Snowbird's Revenge
by sentinel28
Summary: The battle is over. The aftereffects are just starting.
1. Awakenings

_**SNOWBIRD'S REVENGE**_

_**Chapter 8 of the Snowbird Saga**_

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, here we are, Chapter 8. Sorry it took so long to update, but after the marathon writing session to finish _Snowbird Chained, _I needed a small break. Plus I tried to start writing this last Sunday, but was too distracted by Clan Patriot advancing to the Super Bowl. Yeah—Clan Patriot. It really is like watching the Clans roll over all opposition. ("They Have Arrived. Nothing We Have Can Stop Them.") As a Dolphins fan, I am truly hoping that the Super Bowl turns out to be Khan Belicheck's Twycross. (Eli Manning as Kai Allard? Well, he _has _been known to self-destruct.)_

_Anyway, back to the ranch. I decided not to write an epilogue to _Snowbird Chained. _It really wouldn't have contributed to the story, and I wanted to get right into this. Oh, and remember when I mentioned that I'd like to have a job that allows me to write a lot and get paid for it? I kind of have that job now. _

_I tried to avoid as much as possible stealing from Stackpole in _Warrior: En Garde, _but given the similar situation, some overlap was inevitable. Riva Allard is a real character; she was introduced briefly in _Warrior: Riposte. _Jim Anderson is my own invention (though he is based very loosely on a character in _Omaha the Cat Dancer_). Events on Vantaa are, except for the inclusion of the Jade Falcons and the Sentinels, pretty much what is described in the _Wolf Clan Sourcebook. _As of this chapter, the Snowbirds saga will generally follow the established timeline (planets will fall when they're supposed to, anyway, and certain battles take place when they're supposed to) if not strict canon. _

_Note that I don't open this story arc with the normal "What Has Gone Before"—I leave that to Max towards the end of this chapter. This is also a bit of a short chapter, at that…_

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: Rouge: You're welcome. Sorry you don't like the idea of Senefa defecting, but I actually had that in mind all along. Senefa is the anti-Phelan Kell; she's a woman of conscience who suddenly realized she was on the wrong side. Still, there will be some twists and turns, and it's not going to be easy on her. As for the Jihad, well…I can't say too much without giving away what's going to happen in the last few chapters of this story, but to paraphrase the old tagline of the _20 Year Update, "_Don't think of your character as being 20 years older…think of her daughter as being ready for battle."_

_Kat: thanks. That confusion was exactly what I wanted to convey. I kind of wish I had written more, but that will have to do. And yes, Rouge is right: your time is coming; somehow, I've got to put you in here—or Sigurd._

_Bien: always good to hear from you, but you could've just e-mailed me the stats of that Victor! (Though I do like it…) Your alter ego will, like MacArthur, return. And yes, I need to update the Snowbirds' TO&E, but that will have to wait until Chapter 9._

_Noveltigger: You could say that the Snowbirds got a nice bonus out of this mission._

_Moisin: We'll see…and yes, there will be blood…_

_FraserMage: We'll get back to the war presently._

_Whew!

* * *

_

_Katrina Steiner Memorial Military Hospital_

_Tharkad, Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth_

_18 July 3051_

Pain. Pain was Sheila Arla-Vlata's world, alternated with long periods of soft blackness. She learned to dread those hours—she thought they might be hours; they might be days or even just minutes—but the pain at least told her she was still alive. At the other times, she wasn't sure if she was unconscious and dreaming, or dead and in some sort of purgatory, or worse.

The pain started first. The blinding pain of the Elemental crushing her arm, of being bounced roughly awake as she felt herself on what had to be a DropShip rising into the atmosphere, then of needles being sunk into her skin. Her memories were hazy and disjointed, to where Sheila was unsure if she was imagining things or it was reality. She remembered a cold wind lancing through the blankets that covered her, then the feeling of weightlessness that might have been yet another DropShip ride, and the worst—the wrenching, nauseous sensation of a hyperspace jump. More cold, more pain, more needles, and even the dull scrape of a bone saw.

The blackness was filled with more dreams. She remembered the Nagelring, and the near isolation she suffered for being a mercenary's daughter at a school of noble families, an isolation only partially allieviated by her acquaintance with Victor Steiner-Davion and her close friendship to Mimi Stykkis. The vivacious, dancing Mimi turned into the half-dead, paralyzed Mimi, and Sheila screamed aloud, wondering if she was about to share her friend's fate. Senefa Malthus invaded her dreams next, at once the kind angel-woman lifting her from the hell of a prison cell to give her water, and the cruel demon-warrior who blasted Sheila's 'Mech out from under her; Senefa's face wavered and became the cruel Athena Henderson, and Sheila screamed again at the memory of her body and mind being ripped apart under the straps and the drugs. Sheila relived battles, some of which were surreal, in which she saw herself as her nickname, a snowy owl, fighting a jade falcon with the green eyes of Senefa or the dead blue of Athena; others in such complete and livid detail that she felt her body unconsciously gripping control sticks and stomping jump pedals. Through it all, Max's face and voice was there, soothing her, making the nightmares go away; she cried when she remembered having to briefly choose between the Snowbirds and her lover at the dropzone outside Fort Pilum, and shuddered remembering the sweetness of their first lovemaking that day of the rain.

Finally, Sheila felt herself awake, this time to the point where everything wasn't in some sort of gauzy dreaminess or the harsh reality of an operating room. It was slow, where Sheila felt her body and mind waking up as if she was a BattleMech herself, with systems gradually coming online after a forced shutdown. Smell came back first, which was how she knew it was a hospital from the cloying scent of disinfectant, a scent she hated since Sheila had always associated hospitals with pain. Next came hearing, though that was muffled and distant, though she could hear the steady _beep beep beep_ of an electrocardiogram that was obviously her own heartbeat, and the sound of her own breathing. After that was sensation: the dull ache from her left arm, pins and needles in her right arm, various other objects stuck in rather unnatural places for such things to be, and the cool flow of oxygen through tubes in her nose. Finally, there was sight, as she slowly opened her eyes. Everything was dark, but after a wild, panicky moment in which she thought she might be blind, she realized the room was just dim.

Sheila looked down at herself. She couldn't see much, since she was swathed in covers to her neck, but she could tell she was wearing nothing but a hospital smock. She absurdly wished for her uniform back, since the day she had been captured by the Clans, she had either been wearing ill-fitting coveralls, smocks, or blankets. It seemed like she had been basically naked more in the past few weeks (months?) than she had with her husband during their months of marriage.

And speaking of her husband, she slowly turned and saw Max sitting in a chair next to her bed, sound asleep, a book folded on his chest. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but she summoned up what saliva she could, and whispered, "Max?" To her annoyance, he failed to stir, so she reached out with her left arm to shake him. The arm responded, but then pain shot upwards and she gasped; something underneath the covers hit the metal railings of the bed with a distinct thunk. That woke him. He blinked, yawned, looked over at Sheila, and did a comical double-take as he realized she was staring back at him. "Sheila?" he said, nearly as softly as she had, as if not quite believing what he saw, then sat bolt upright. "Sheila!"

Since her left arm wasn't quite working properly, she motioned for the water glass she spotted on the shelf next to her bed. Max, who obviously wanted to hug her but was afraid of hurting her, seized it like a man in the desert and slowly brought it to her parched lips. It was bottled water, but to Sheila it tasted better than anything she had ever tasted before. "Thanks, honey," she whispered. "_Now_ you can kiss me." Since Max could not seem to form coherent words, he did so, and it was just as sweet as the water.

When they had at last parted—Sheila noted in passing that the EKG had sped up noticeably—Max looked down at her, smoothing some errant strands of hair from her face. He wiped his cheeks of tears, then did the same for her. "How're you feeling?" he asked her, his voice rough with emotion.

"Like shit," Sheila answered truthfully. The mere act of moving made muscles obviously not used in awhile scream in pain, and all the needles and other items stuck in her body moved and hurt too.

"That—that's good," Max replied, then they laughed, which did feel pretty good. "I'll get the doctor." Sheila didn't want him to go at all, but luckily he never left her sight, just going to the door and speaking with someone there. Minutes later, two green-smocked doctors returned, and their faces split into smiles at her status. "Glad to see you're awake," the female of the two said. "We were starting to get a little worried." She held out her hand, and Sheila shook it with her right hand. "I'm Doctor Riva Allard."

"I thought you looked familiar," Sheila said, in awe. Riva Allard was the daughter of Quintus Allard, former head of the Davion MIIO intelligence service, and the sister of Justin Xiang Allard, MIIO's current head, and Daniel Allard, second-in-command of the legendary Kell Hounds. Her familial relations paled in comparison to her own pedigree, however: Riva Allard was a leading figure in neurology and _the_ expert on cybernetics.

"Doctor Jim Anderson," the male said, and Sheila had heard of him as well. Anderson had been a famous infantry commander before he had stepped on a mine in the War of 3039. He had gone into medicine and also pioneered cybernetic techniques, which he used on himself—Anderson was missing his right leg from above the knee and his left foot. The fact that the two of them were here in her hospital room meant that something was wrong.

"Before we go any further," Sheila said, "what's wrong with me? Give it to me straight up."

Allard sat on the side of her bed, opened her mouth, and then looked to Anderson. The older man put his hands behind his back. "We had to amputate your left arm," he said simply.

Sheila sighed. "I figured as much. I can't really reach it…can you…"

Max slowly, reluctantly, pulled back the sheet. "I can't see it very well," Sheila said, so he grabbed her fingers—at least she supposed he had—and lifted up her arm. Sheila leaned forward, peering at it in the semi-darkness.

She had seen amputees, of course; it would be hard not to do so in an Inner Sphere that had been at war for nearly three centuries. It was impossible not to see any in a mercenary unit, as many MechWarriors who were medically retired from House units often were snapped up by merc units needing veteran warriors on the first bounce. Max's own father Todd had lost an eye and part of a shoulder to a Liao strafing attack, and had a metal replacement for his shoulder, though the Sentinels were too poor at the time to afford a cybernetic eye. There were others in the Sentinels who had artificial arms or legs. Sheila wondered if she was simply inured to such sights or she was still in shock, because she felt no revulsion or surprise at her new arm.

The doctors had done a good job, she supposed—the cybernetic replacement _looked_ like an arm, so she wasn't stuck with some piece of angle iron with primitive fingers or a hook. It roughly followed the contour of a natural arm and ended in a complete hand with all five fingers. Had it been covered in paint or synthetic flesh, it could've easily passed for a flesh-and-blood arm. Instead, it was dark gray with a metallic sheen, except for lighter shades of gray that crisscrossed the arm at the joints of her arm and fingers, and her fingernails. "It's not so bad," Sheila remarked. Max let go of the fingers and her arm simply dropped like a dead thing.

"Can you lift it?" Allard asked.

Sheila tried to no avail. "Use your elbow," Anderson instructed. Sheila did, and slowly, her arm lifted from the bed. It flopped back onto her shoulder, but after a few more tries, she was able to at least do that. "It hurts," Sheila said, her face covered with a thin sheen of sweat. Her arm felt like it was on fire—from the elbow to her shoulder. There was no feeling below the elbow.

"That's a good sign," Allard told her with a smile. "It's the nerves and muscles. That arm is made from mostly composites, but there's steel in there as well. Your muscles aren't used to lifting that much weight. That will change."

"I can't use the fingers," Sheila protested. She willed them to move, but nothing happened.

"Sheila," Anderson cautioned, "you've just woken up from about a month of a chemically-induced coma. That's the reason the lights are low; your eyes aren't used to it. Give it some time."

"A month?" At least she knew now how long she had been out. "What happened? What about the Snowbirds? What about my parents and the Sentinels? What about Senefa—"

Allard was about to reply, but Max shook his head. "I'll tell her."

"Very well. Now, if you don't mind—" Allard turned down the covers and Sheila turned red with embarassment as she and Anderson lifted the smock and looked her over. "No point in blushing," Anderson grinned. "I was here when they brought you in." After a few more minutes of poking and prodding, they replaced both smock and sheet. "Your prognosis is good," Anderson continued. "You sustained no head injuries, and the muscles in your chest have healed nicely. The medical team on Vantaa had already fixed your shoulders by the time you were shuttled back here—you're on Tharkad, by the way. Unfortunately, we couldn't save your arm. We tried. The bone structure was basically gone, and there was extensive nerve damage. Rather than living the rest of your life with a withered and useless arm, and also because we feared gangrene could set in, we had to amputate."

"I understand," Sheila assured him. "You did the best you could." She lifted the arm again. _Move, dammit,_ she commanded her new fingers, but they stubbornly refused. "How long before I can use this like my old arm?"

Anderson and Allard exchanged a glance. "Sheila," Allard said gently, "you will probably never have all the range of motion of your old arm. You will, however, be quite functional with it. You will probably even be able to play the drums again." Sheila had driven her parents crazy with a drum set her father had, in a moment of weakness, bought her when she was twelve, but even they had to admit she was pretty good with them. "But that's not the real reason you ask, is it? You want to know if you will be able to pilot a 'Mech again." She sounded bitter.

"Doctor Allard, it's my duty."

"Yes, I know. Remember that my brothers are MechWarriors, and Justin has a situation quite similar to yours." Allard shook her head. "I apologize, Sheila. It's just that, as doctors, we occasionally have a tough time accepting that the people we put back together want to know the nearest opportunity they will have to start taking other people apart."

She faced Sheila squarely. "The good news is that we've made huge strides since 3026, and your situation is much better than my brother's. He had the arm completely blown off; we were able to salvage the nerve ganglia in yours. Combined with cyberneural techniques, you will need none of the special adaptative functions my brother needed to pilot his _Centurion_ back on Solaris VII or in the Fourth War."

"So what's the bad news?"

"The bad news is that you will never quite have real feeling in your hand. Like I said, you will regain your basic motor functions and be able to pilot a 'Mech, but it will not be easy. It will be exceptionally difficult, like learning to walk again. You may find that it will be an impossible task." Allard paused. "Sheila, you have a gift for training. You could become a teacher or some other function besides being a MechWarrior."

"I loved being a warrior," Anderson put in. "I tried to get back into it. I failed. There's no dishonor in it, Sheila. You have already given a full measure. In fact, your heroism is what has given you that arm—it was expensive, as you've probably already suspected, but it was paid in full by Prince Davion, for your actions on Outreach. You can retire with honor…if you wish."

"No," Sheila said firmly. "How long?"

Allard shrugged. "Six months to a year."

Sheila smiled. "Doctor, I'll bet you both a hundred C-bills each that I'll be back in the cockpit in four months."

"I don't take sucker bets." Allard got up.

"Me neither," Anderson added.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Because neither of us think you can do it, and that's a third of your monthly salary," Anderson answered with a half-grin. "And if you prove us wrong, we don't want to be out the money. So we'll see." Sheila decided not to press the point; at least they hadn't outright told her she was crazy. By the look on Max's face, he had already decided she was. Allard motioned at her other arm, the one that was still real. "I'll have the nurse remove most of those needles. Are you hungry?"

"Not really. Thirsty."

"The anaesthetic tends to dry you out. We'll leave the IV in you for the rest of the day. How about using the bathroom? Can you manage?"

"I think so."

"Have the nurse or your husband help you."

"I could use a bath." Sheila wrinkled her nose; the room did smell of sweat.

"Well, we can probably arrange something. I'm sure you can help with _that_." She looked at Max and winked. Sheila blushed again, and motioned Allard over to whisper in her ear. Allard's grin was huge, and it changed her face completely. She looked like a mischevious little girl. "Try to wait until tomorrow. Newlyweds." She rolled her eyes. "I'll leave you both. You have some catching up to do."

* * *

Max told Sheila everything—the desperate race to the Sharpsburg DropPort, the taking of the _Minerva_ (though he was careful to leave out the part where he was nose to nose and hip to hip with Senefa Malthus), and the confused, murderous battle that ensued between Marion Rhialla's task force and the Jade Falcon 'Mechs that had left two Snowbirds dead. There had been a rather tense moment where Sentinel fighters had been scrambled to intercept the _Minerva,_ despite the DropShip pilot's frantic pleas of wounded being aboard—a situation solved when Max had begun screaming "_Sic semper tyrannis!"_ into the radio. Sheila's father Calla had allowed the captured Clan DropShip to land at that, remembering the password Justin Xiang Allard had given a Davion raiding party on Sian, the then-secret password that Allard had been a Davion spy all along. No Clansman would know that, so the _Minerva_ was let through. Max decided not to mention that Sheila's mother Arla had been nearly hysterical upon seeing her daughter's condition. The Vantaa doctors had stabilized Sheila, but it was obvious that Vantaa's medical community could not give her the care she needed, and so she was shuttled up to a JumpShip and sent back to Tharkad.

The news from Vantaa was bad. For unknown reasons, possibly either Senefa Malthus' defection or simple exhaustion, the Jade Falcons had pushed the Sentinels off Marye's Heights but had been unable to cross the Anna River into Cold Harbour. Calla had been prepared to fight it out—even if Cold Harbour was overrun, there was plenty of good terrain for the defense further south—but then Clan Wolf struck. They had grounded outside the capital of Rissala; outnumbered and outgunned, Marshal Sarah Steiner had offered to fight the Clans according to Clan tradition—a massive one-on-one fight where the victor went on to fight the next challenger, and the last one left standing would win. The battered 10th Donegal Guards had fought hard, but lost. With the 12th Star Guards already mauled by the Falcons in the Massanutten Valley and the Sentinels battered, Steiner decided that Vantaa was indefensible, and informed the Wolves that she planned to retreat. To her surprise, the Wolf commander agreed to let the AFFC forces go without further conflict. Cavell Malthus had made no such agreement, however, and attacked Cold Harbour as the Sentinels were beginning to retreat. The Sentinels had managed to escape with minimal losses, but also at the cost of being forced to abandon the Vantaa Militia. Max's eyes welled with tears at that; he had become friends with members of that militia, namely Captain Keynes, who had helped lead the attack on the Sharpsburg prison camps. Calla had told the militia to head into the mountains and keep a low profile, that the Sentinels would send back a rescue force, but it was a hollow promise and both sides knew it. Vantaa was gone, one more world lost to the Clans. The only good news was that casualties were much lower than anticipated, and the Sentinels could replace their losses on Sudeten, their new location; the Clans had not renewed their offensive anywhere else.

But that would change, and the Inner Sphere now knew when—thanks to Senefa Malthus. While Senefa had not exactly sung like the proverbial canary, mainly because there simply was not much she knew, she had told her interrogators that the Clans fully planned to attack as soon as a new ilKhan was elected. She had been a treasure trove of information about the inner workings of the Clan government, or what passed for it, and Clan culture in general, but that was all. No House of the Inner Sphere was any more reluctant to torture than the Clans, even the generally progressive Federated Commonwealth, but it was unnecessary with Senefa. Since she had asked for asylum, she was not a prisoner of war—but no one quite knew what to do with her, either. For now, she was more or less under house arrest, also on Tharkad, though she was being kept at government expense at one of Tharkad's swankiest hotels, so her imprisonment was hardly inhumane. The only other Clanfolk taken alive in the Sharpsburg raid, Elemental Star Commander Vornzel, was even less communicative, but he had almost nothing to tell in any case. He had been treated for a severe concussion and also brought back to Tharkad, though he was held in a POW camp with the few Jade Falcons that had been captured on Twycross and Planting. He was, by all reports, adapting to prison life as well as could be expected, even organizing a rescue party when an avalanche had struck a Tharkad highway near the camp. Senefa, on the other hand, had retreated into a shell, her only activity limited to eating, sleeping, and voracious reading.

Sheila was still exhausted, and after a bowl of soup, had fallen asleep. Max resumed his spot on the chair and held her hand until he too succumbed to sleep. The nurse arrived to disconnect Sheila from most of the various implements attached to her body, but seeing the couple looking at peace for the first time in weeks, left them, only tucking a blanket around Max and turning down the lights.

Max had left something else out of his talk with Sheila, but it was because he had no way of knowing what else Senefa had revealed to MIIO. It had been so explosive that Simon Johnson, the head of the Lyran branch of MIIO and formerly of the Lyran Loki secret service, had at once classified it Eyes Only—as opposed to the Most Secret classification given Senefa's information on the inner workings of Clan society—and sent it via slow fax to Justin Allard on Outreach, Johnson not daring to risk it on the possibly compromised hyperpulse network of ComStar.

In it was a transcription of Senefa reporting on the Liao agent's attempted contact with the Jade Falcons—and the middle man, Duke Samuel Bonner of Furillo.


	2. Best Destiny

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here's chapter two. Again, sorry for the delay…been pretty busy today and I was having some trouble figuring out how to write this. Hope I did a good job. (Yes, that means review this.) This is a short chapter, as it hits a good ending point before I move on to the next one (which is already half-written, so hopefully I'll get it up by Sunday or Monday). There's also the little fact of last Sunday's Super Bowl. Looks like my prediction was right—it really was Clan Patriot's Twycross. Justin Tyree did the Kai Allard thing, though; Eli Manning is frigging Morgan Kell!_

_A number of references in this chapter to other Battletech works, namely _Warrior: Riposte. _Justin Xiang Allard's role as a double agent during the Fourth Succession War should be familiar to most Battletech fans, but if not, then I strongly suggest either hitting Google or, much better yet, reading the Warrior trilogy. Also mentioned is "Jay Mitchell" and his book, _Hell's Anvil, _which is mentioned by Dan Allard in _Riposte _as a somewhat doctored history of the famous battle on Mallory's World, which saw the death of Ian Davion (Hanse's brother and predecessor to the Federated Suns' throne), the emergence of Yorinaga Kurita, and Morgan Kell's development of the possibly psionic and somewhat munchkin "Phantom 'Mech" skill. (Which, I notice, hasn't been mentioned since the end of _Warrior: Coupe; _Stackpole only comments on Morgan's piloting skills when he's dodging Nova Cat fire on Luthien in _Blood Legacy_.) The St. Marinus House monastery on Zaniah III is where Morgan briefly retired after that battle. I'm not sure if Morgan ever actually said he had made the wrong choice, but I got that impression from his conversation there with Dan Allard. While Morgan also never mentioned it to Sheila Arla-Vlata during their conversation on Outreach, just assume that they talked at some other point. Really. _

_I apologize for the somewhat explicit sexual reference between Sheila and Max, but heck, what would _you _do if your significant other had just woken up from a coma after you had thought she might be dying in prison? I also apologize for swiping one of the better lines from _Star Trek. _It was just too good to pass up. ;)_

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: GreenKnight, I got your PM, so I'll respond to that. Fraser, as this chapter may point out, the Clans are going to have to get in line…

* * *

_

_Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters_

_Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth_

_20 July 3051_

Hanse Davion made an effort to control his growing rage and tossed the fax onto the desk. "Can we confirm this, Justin?"

Justin Xiang Allard shook his head. "Circumstantially at best. Samuel Bonner has made no secret of his loathing for you or the idea of the Federated Commonwealth, but that's hardly a capital crime."

"Just as well. I'd probably have a three-year waiting list on executions," Hanse said. "What else do we have?" He took his wife's hand beneath the table.

"Liao did send a delegation to the Skye March Trade Fair on Solaris VII this year. We identified several Maskirovka agents among them, and this person Star Colonel Malthus identifies—Douglas Everson—was indeed listed among the delegates. We have a file on him, but he is—was--a minor functionary in Romano Liao's court, not even ambassadorial rank."

"How long has he been with her?" Melissa Steiner-Davion asked.

Justin's mouth quirked upwards. "I met him when I was at the Sian court." He referred to his time as Davion's most devastating double agent. "He was barely out of his teens then, but devoted to Romano…not to the point of her Thugee assassins, but he'd still probably lick her toes if she asked him to. His father was a fairly important figure in the Ministry of State and Foreign Relations, though."

"Family friend?"

"I would say that, yes."

"Continue," Hanse told him.

"He would've had enough time to catch a JumpShip from Solaris VII to Skye or Donegal. After that, though, the only way Everson could've made it to Vantaa before the Clans imposed a de facto blockade on it was to travel by one of the Sentinels' JumpShips. That's certainly possible, but it would be rather difficult."

"So you think Colonel Malthus was lying?" This from Melissa.

"No, Archon, I think she was being a hundred percent honest." Justin ticked off the points on his artificial hand. "One. Everson _could_ have been onplanet—the Sentinels weren't exactly looking for Liao secret agents, so he would be easy to miss. Two, this has all the makings of a backchannel contact—Everson was a crony of Romano Liao's, not a formal emissary or a Maskirovka agent, both of which we at MIIO had a good chance of detecting. Three, Romano has every reason to want to use the Clans against us—as you mentioned at our last confabulation two weeks ago, they pose as much of a threat to her as they do is, but she's too insane to realize it; however, Romano would happily try to play the Clans off of us if she can. Four, Bonner also has a motive, and plausible deniability—even if we arrested him tomorrow, he could claim that he had no idea Everson was a Liao agent, and scream very loudly to the press that we were using the war to silence dissent among the Skye sepratists. Five, and most important," Justin said, "Senefa Malthus has no reason to lie. She has no dog in this fight, as it were, as she has no affiliation to any of the Successor States. The Clans, or at least the Jade Falcons, are not interested in nonaggression pacts or peace treaties; this saKhan Cavell Malthus had Everson shot for even suggesting it. She gains nothing by making up a story, and she is certainly no agent provacateur for the Clans. As crazy as it sounds, the Clans want a fair, straight-up fight with us. For the first time since the fall of the Star League—or even before that—we're facing an opponent that won't engage in dirty tricks, at least not off the battlefield."

"I don't mean to be a devil's advocate," Melissa said to Justin, "but your fourth point is salient." She shrugged. "I don't care if Romano Liao is trying to undercut us, really. We _know_ she'll do that at every opportunity. It's an enemy we know. What concerns me more is a Lyran planetary duke trying to undercut us. And, as you say, we have no real evidence, not even circumstantial in his case. He's been named as party to a plot by a Clan warrior. We all know that won't hold up in court or the media. We try to prosecute him now, and we might just cause that very split in the Skye March that Bonner and my cousin—" Melissa spat the word like a piece of rotten meat "—Ryan Steiner wants."

Hanse Davion leaned forward, thinking. His wife was entirely correct, as usual. He didn't remotely suspect her of fearing to arrest Bonner for sedition and treason; Melissa was a Steiner, and like most members of that family, she possessed an iron, cold core. She projected an aura of understanding and civility, to the point where many considered her the light to Hanse's shadow, but she also was not afraid of crushing opposition if it became necessary. Unfortunately for them, they had no evidence other than the word of an enemy warrior, the knowledge that Romano Liao would happily doom half her own nation if it meant getting at the Federated Commonwealth, and that Bonner was an outspoken critic of Davion and the whole idea of a unified nation.

"I can increase surveillance on Bonner," Justin said, breaking the silence. "That's all I can do for now."

Hanse sighed and nodded. "Very well. We'll have to play a waiting game until something breaks our way."

* * *

_Hyatt-Hilton Royal Tharkad_

_Tharkad, Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth_

_23 July 3051_

There was a knock on the door—too loudly, Senefa Malthus thought. She forced down an urge to punch one of the guards that was constantly at her door; it would do no good and probably result in being thrown into the planet's POW camp. She knew her own survival there would be measured in minutes. Senefa rose from her overstuffed chair, put down _The Count of Monte Cristo,_ and walked barefoot to the door.

It slid open to reveal Sheila Arla-Vlata, the last person Senefa expected to see. The two women stared at each other for almost a full minute, then Sheila smiled sheepishly and said, "Hi."

"Oh. Hello," Senefa returned, feeling just as awkward. "Ah…please, come in."

"Sure." Sheila came in. After a glance from the guard, who wore the black-and-white checkers of Lohengrin, the Lyran elite special forces unit, the door slid shut. Sheila expected to hear it lock, but the light on the door burned a steady green, indicating it wasn't locked at all. "You have free passage, then?" she asked Senefa, pointing at the light.

Senefa softly and bitterly laughed. "Certainly. I can go anywhere in the hotel, supposedly without guards—but a good third of the staff are spies." Sheila didn't doubt that Senefa was right. "They follow me everywhere. If I leave the hotel, I have an 'escort' of at least four men like the one outside the door." She sat down in the chair and ran a finger over the phone. "This is bugged. I have found at least five others so far, and I am quite sure I am under surveillance." She marked her place in the book and set it aside. "Were it not for the books and the hotel gym, I would likely go mad."

Sheila surveyed the giant pile of books that was the only thing out of place in the room; the bedclothes were so sharp that one could bounce a kroner coin off of them, and Sheila suspected it wasn't because of housekeeping. Some of the titles Sheila recognized: Senefa had evidently already read Thelos Auburn's massive _The Origins of the Great Families,_ about the Successor States and their ruling Houses, and every book Misha Auburn had ever published. She also spotted, to her surprise, several novels. All of them had to do with being imprisoned…or with revenge.

The silence stretched on uncomfortably, and then she noticed Senefa staring at her artificial arm. "So…they had to remove that, quiaff?" Senefa winced at the Clan colloquialism.

"Yeah," Sheila answered simply.

"Does it hurt? Obviously you are more or less fully healed."

"More or less. Today was the first day I was allowed to leave the hospital—though I have to be back there by 1800 hours." She rested the arm on her lap. That morning, she had finally gotten the fingers to move without concentrating enough to get a headache, so she was making progress. Luckily she didn't need to use her arms to walk, or for the basic necessities of life. Using the fingers of her good hand, Sheila could mould the steel one to hold a cup or a bowl, so she could eat independently, and she had been able to bathe and give her legs a well-needed shave. Max had helped with both, though it had also led to passionate lovemaking sessions; after all, they hadn't touched each other in well over a month. Sheila had discovered that the neural function of her artificial arm worked just fine, embarrasingly in the throes of passion, when she had accidentally grabbed her husband's arm and nearly broken it. (Max was a trooper, however, and finished up before getting the deep bruises treated.) In fact, except for that incident, and the lingering fatigue from being in practically a coma for a month and still existing on liquid food, Sheila felt rather decent. The arm was troublesome, but she was certain that, with a few months, she would be back in top form. She wasn't worried about the Snowbirds, who seemed to be getting along well enough under Elfa Brownoak's command; they had recorded a holo for her that was cheery despite their losses and the retreat from Vantaa. Her parents were also fine, and Sheila had even received a holographic get-well from the young royals on Outreach, though Sun-Tzu Liao had been noticeably absent. That left really only one thing that was not satisfactorily resolved: Senefa Malthus.

"Other than that, how are you doing?" Even as she said it, Sheila wanted to crack herself across the head, with the metal arm. "Sorry. That's kind of like saying, 'Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you enjoy the play?'"

Senefa's eyebrows beetled together for a moment, trying to place the reference, then the former Clanswoman suddenly broke out in laughter. Sheila blinked in surprise: she was sure she had never heard Senefa actually laugh, much less giggle like a little girl. "So you _can_ laugh," Sheila remarked.

"Of course I can laugh," Senefa replied, wiping her eyes. "I am not a machine, Sheila."

"Glad to hear that. Let me rephrase that last transmission…what are your plans?"

The humor abruptly vanished. "For what?"

"For the rest of your life, Senefa." Sheila gestured at the books. "Or do you plan on becoming a librarian?"

"I do not know." Senefa sunk deeper in the chair. "I do not know what I am going to do."

"My offer still stands, you know." Sheila pushed off the bed with her good hand and stood, walking to the window. "The Snowbirds could use you."

"I doubt I would be welcome. I am an enemy."

"You _were_ an enemy. What you did on Vantaa means a lot—a lot more than anything you did before that, which was just be a damn tough opponent. Hell, Senefa, the Sentinels have ex-Kurita and Liao MechWarriors among them, people that fought us on several occasions before they were forced to leave or decided to defect. We know you didn't have anything to do with Front Royal, so you don't need to worry about that."

"You cannot tell me that all would be forgiven."

Sheila faced her. "Look…if you were a bondswoman, and I was offering to adopt you into _my_ Clan, would you refuse?"

"It is not as simple as that," Senefa sighed. She got up as well, and walked to stand beside Sheila, staring out over the snowy peaks that surrounded the Triad. "Sheila, I was not captured or taken as a bondswoman. I left of my own free will. That makes me a traitor. The Jade Falcons have a price on my head." At Sheila's look of shock, she nodded sadly. "Aff, it is true. Mr. Johnson told me, and I do not believe he lied. The MechWarrior that kills me will automatically receive a berth at the next competition for his or her genetic house's Bloodname. My own Bloodname was stripped from me _in absentia._ I am…nothing."

The room was silent for a long moment. "You gave all that up…for me?" Sheila asked, in a voice just above a whisper.

Senefa shook her head. "Neg. You were just the catalyst. I could no longer serve my Clan. I had to do something, Sheila. I only wish now I had thought of the cost." She leaned against the windowsill and bit her lip. To Sheila's surprise, the ex-Clan MechWarrior looked to be on the verge of tears. "I have been offered much. This Simon Johnson fellow told me they would give me free passage to anywhere in the Inner Sphere. I could join Wolf's Dragoons on Outreach, or even the MIIO organization here on Tharkad or on New Avalon—I would be a spy." Senefa snorted. "I really _would_ be rather dead in that case. Johnson did mention a monastery, St. Marinus House, on Zaniah III. I thought I might go there…at least for awhile."

Sheila felt her anger building, prepatory to hitting Senefa. She had expected some resistance from her old enemy, but not this. It was as if Senefa Malthus had been the one severely injured on Vantaa, not Sheila. The fire was gone from Senefa, leaving a hollow shell. Then Sheila let her fury die aborning. Senefa deserved to find her own place. Sheila herself had refused to raise her hand against her own nation, so it was vastly unfair for Sheila to ask Senefa to do the same. "I guess I understand," Sheila said finally. "I…guess I'll be going then."

"Surely you are not returning to the front so quickly, quineg?"

"No—neg. I have a long way to go with this arm." Sheila turned and walked to the door, then paused in front of the stack of books. She reached down and picked up one of them. Somehow she wasn't surprised that Senefa was like herself and Sheila's father, and preferred the feel of real paper beneath her fingers, rather than reading off a screen. Sheila inspected the cover of the book, which showed an _Archer_ and a _Warhammer_ in battle. "_Hell's Anvil,_" she read the title. "Jay Mitchell's book on the Battle of Mallory's World. This is good. We had to read this in the Nagelring. Did you like it?"

"I have not read it yet."

Sheila put the book down on top of the stack. "You know, after that battle, Morgan Kell went into exile for eleven years. I asked him about that, a few months ago when we were both on Outreach, why he did it. He told me he felt it was the right thing to do at the time, but that he wished he hadn't. He felt those years were wasted—years he could've better put to use leading a 'Mech unit or staying with the woman who became his wife." Sheila looked up at Senefa. "Senefa, maybe it's the right thing for you to do, to go to that monastery on Zaniah to sort things out. I'm not going to try to talk you out of it because that would be selfish on my part. But I am going to say this, because you're the most skilled MechWarrior I've ever met, on the field or off it. Yeah, maybe you were bred for it, genetically, but dammit, I've run into a hundred Clanners who couldn't hold a candle to you.

"Being a MechWarrior is your first, best destiny, Senefa. Anything else would be a waste. You want to get back into that cockpit as much as I do."

Senefa stared at her former nemesis' back as Sheila went to the door. As it slid open, Senefa spoke her name. When Sheila paused and looked over her shoulder, she pointed at Sheila's artificial hand.

Sheila brought her hand up. It had curled into a fist.


	3. Tech War

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Chapter Three. This gives me a chance to spotlight a few secondary characters that haven't really had much of a chance yet. Techs never get the credit they deserve in the Battletech universe (just like crew chiefs and mechanics get many headlines in today's world), so here I'm giving them a chance to shine. A few shout-outs here to Green Knight and Kat Wylder, plus _08th MS Team _(my favorite Gundam series), _Case Closed, _and_ Back to the Future. _I like pop culture refs; what can I say? This chapter also introduces an interesting moral quandary, which I won't get into. _

_I hope you'll forgive the tech-talk and technobabble. Grease monkeys are grease monkeys, and I'm guessing that techs love to talk shop just like anyone else._

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: Rouge: I'm glad you like the cybernetic bit, and are at least getting used to Senefa being on the side of the angels. (Of sorts.) As for Sheila's arm, I'm not sure if I was inspired more by Justin Allard, Mr. Rycheck from the godawful movie version of _Starship Troopers, _or even Luke Skywalker. Anyway, I agree with Green Knight that it makes Sheila more human and hopefully, three-dimensional. (Those of you who have visited my DeviantArt page would already know this by now, as I've always drawn Sheila with her cybernetic arm. plug plug pluggity plug)

* * *

_

_Sentinel Base Sudeten_

_Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth_

_23 July 3051_

Master Tech Nicia Caii leaned back in her chair, rubbed her eyes, and yawned, then stretched. She heard her back and arms pop alarmingly. "I'm getting too old for this," she sighed, then yawned again. Actually, she was not yet forty, and knew it was Sudeten that was making her tired. The gravity here was slightly higher than Terra-standard, which meant it was a full three-Gs higher than her native Quantraine. That, and the fact that she had already been up for over twenty-four hours. Normally, she got used to a new world's gravity fairly quickly; she only really noticed when she was at the verge of exhaustion.

She supposed she should be used to that: after all, it was always after a major campaign that techs worked the hardest, repairing 'Mechs and getting new ones ready for service. It didn't help that the Sentinels had nearly forty different kinds of 'Mechs, and subtypes among those, and custom jobs as well, modified and tweaked to their MechWarriors' specifications. She had been nagging Calla Bighorn-Vlata for years to at least adopt some form of standardization, but only the richest mercenary units could afford to pick and choose what kind of 'Mechs they would get. Units like the Sentinels had to take what they could get or what the House would provide.

Nicia rubbed her long-fingered hands over her bald pate in an effort to get circulation going, then closed her eyes for a moment. _Just a quick ten minute nap,_ she told herself. _You'll be good to go then. _She knew she was lying to herself, that a ten-minute nap could turn into a ten hour collapse, but was too tired to care. She tried to relax, putting her feet up on her desk and folding her hands across her narrow stomach, but to her surprise sleep eluded her. Nicia tried an old method that never failed her: she imagined all of her problems as drawers in a desk, and opened each. _Repair work on Bien's _Victor—_that new myomer bundle in the left arm. Did I do that…no, Eledore got it; that's right. Okay, that's finished, then. _She mentally closed that drawer. _What about the gyro on Acosta's_ Shadow Hawk? _Hmm…no, it's a glitch, not battle damage. We can get to that later._ She filed that away as well. After a few minutes of musing, Nicia felt sleep approaching as she ticked off the various repairs and gripes she had to deal with as the regimental Master Tech. Finally, only one thing remained. She frowned. _Oh yes…our traitor._

Every spare moment she had—which had been damned few since the beginning of the Vantaa campaign and the subsequent retreat from that world—Nicia had gone over all her personnel files, alone, not trusting even her senior techs with her suspicions. Luckily, she knew that the traitor, if there was one, had to be among the Snowbirds' techs, which thankfully meant she wouldn't have to check all of them, just about a hundred or so. She had found nothing that jumped out and told her one of her techs was playing for another team, which meant none of them were guilty—or all of them were.

Nicia mulled her problem for the thousandth time. They had recovered the wreck of Sheila Arla-Vlata's _Shruiken_ from the Massanutten Valley; the only good thing about fighting the Clans was, if the Sentinels retained possession of a battlefield or regained it later, the Clans never dragged off killed 'Mechs for salvage. The _Shruiken_ had been shot up beyond economical repair, and her techs had already begun stripping it for parts before Nicia could intervene. That wasn't suspicious, because techs were trained to assess the condition of 'Mechs quickly and start salvage work as soon as possible to shorten repair times. They also worked according to the triage system, putting lightly damaged 'Mechs back into service faster than badly damaged ones, and not even bothering with catastrophically damaged machines except for parts until the campaign was over.

Even so, her close inspection of the _Shruiken_ had turned up nothing. The onboard computer had been damaged, which was also not surprising, and it had similarly revealed nothing. The only evidence Nicia had was Sheila's radio message that her jumpjets had failed, and that was what had aroused—and still aroused—her suspicion.

It was not unusual for jumpjets to go down from battle damage. Jumpjets used plasma vented directly from the engine and pushed through special nozzles to propel the 'Mech into the air. Hitting the nozzles with weapons fire was rare, but it did happen, and in theory it was possible to hit all the nozzles, though the chances of that happening approached the astronomical. The _Shruiken_ had four such jets, in the rear of the legs; knocking out all four generally meant blowing both legs off, which hadn't come close to happening. For all four to go out meant a computer problem along with a failure in rugged, quadruple-redundant microprocessors designed specifically to resist battle damage. In her nearly thirty years of being a tech, learning at her father's and grandfather's side when she was still not yet a teenager, Nicia had never heard of such an occurrence. Weapons failures, yes—weapons were delicate things that could easily be knocked out. Heat sinks could rupture just from overheating. Gyros were notoriously easy to damage. Even engines could run "rough" for one reason or another. But jumpjets had few moving parts, and catastrophic failure of all four with no corresponding battle damage was basically impossible. It _was_ possible that Nicia was seeing something like it for the first time, but she had a gut feeling that it had been sabotage. Nicia had long ago learned to trust her gut.

_But then who was it?_ she asked herself. She was no Sherlock Holmes or Jimmy Kudo, but Nicia knew whoever it was had to have a motive. Sabotage was uncommon but not unusual, and certainly Nicia had always been on guard against Kurita, or Marik, or Liao agents trying to break in and wreck her 'Mechs—though that had never happened during her tenure with the Sentinels, simply because the unit never had been in a position of that much importance to their enemies. From what she knew about the Clans, they simply didn't practice that sort of thing and indeed seemed to abhor it. That eliminated the main reason—render enemy 'Mechs combat ineffective. Since Nicia suspected only the _Shruiken_ had been sabotaged, that meant it had to be a personal reason—but none of her techs had anything against Sheila Arla-Vlata, and indeed many of them loved her like a surrogate daughter. The "next generation" that was fighting the Clans had grown up in the Sentinels; Sheila, Max Canis-Vlata, Mimi Stykkis, Maysa Bari, and many other Sentinel children were well known to the older techs. In fact, the only person that Nicia knew had anything against Sheila was Mary Scott, but she had volunteered to go on the rescue mission. Mary, moreover, was no tech and would have no idea how to do the sort of sabotage required. No, Nicia thought, it had to be a tech, not a MechWarrior, which left her back at square one.

Her nose wrinkled as she smelled something very pleasant. She opened her eyes and sat forward as Maysa Bari, her hands black with lubricants and dirt, came in bearing a coffee cup. She set it down in front of Nicia. "Thought you could use this, ma'am."

"Oh God, yes." Nicia sipped at it, relished the bitter taste and the wonderful warm glow it left in her throat and nostrils. "That's good stuff…German blend. Sudeten has crappy weather, but it has great coffee." She took another glorious sip. "Maysa, you're a lifesaver."

"You really should get some sleep, ma'am," Maysa continued. "It's late. All the other techs have already headed off to bed."

Nicia looked up sharply and was about to ask who had given that order, then remembered it had been her. Tired techs made mistakes; mistakes got people killed. She supposed she should take her own advice, but now she was awake, thanks to the coffee. "Ahh, I'll be all right. Just one or two more small things." Which would quickly grow to five or six more things, they both knew. "What are you still doing here? And cut out the ma'am…I helped change your diapers."

Maysa blushed red, though it was hard to tell under her stained cheeks. "Eledore was having trouble with a flux capacitor in the PPC on Maria Thyatis' _Wolverine_. I'm not doing anything anyway—my _Rifleman_'s all ready to go—so I figured I'd hang around and give him a hand. We just closed up."

"Bless you, Maysa." Nicia was always thankful for MechWarriors like Bari, or quite a few others in the Sentinels. She had known House MechWarriors who wouldn't think of getting their hands dirty with maintenance, but mercenaries were different, and the Sentinels especially so. Since many of them owned their 'Mechs, it was their livelihood at stake. A few even had to be persuaded to even let techs get close to their machines, preferring to live or die according to their own repair skills. Since Maysa had been literally raised in the 'Mech bays, Nicia only detailed apprentice or assistant techs to help the MechWarrior repair her _Rifleman_; Maysa simply didn't need the help. "Were you two actually using a Lord's Light capacitor?"

"Yeah. Luckily we had one. It sure is easier getting Kurita parts these days."

"I know what you mean. I hate that 7K mod on that _Wolvie._ Back in the old days, I'd have to wait until one of you 'Mechjocks nailed a _Panther_ or we could steal one to fix a Lord's Light. If it was me, I'd rip that damn thing out and replace it with a Magna Hellstar, but marrying up those connections is a pain. How's those Defiance B3Ls working out for you, by the way? Better than the Magna Mark Threes?"

"Definitely. The Magnas have better lenses, but the Defiances can take a hit. I took a laser hit on Vantaa that would've knocked out a Magna—the B3Ls didn't even hiccup. Well, ma'am, I'd better be hitting the sack too. See you in the morning." Maysa took a step towards the door. She could tell that Nicia was warming up for a technical debate, and those could go on for hours.

"Sure. Thanks for the coffee." Nicia winked, letting Maysa know she hadn't taken offense, then went back to one of her "small things," a myomer rewire of an 85-ton _Stalker.

* * *

_

Maysa left Nicia's office and headed back out onto the 'Mech bay floor. It was cavernous and held three dozen of the huge machines, from a _Locust_ that she could reach up and touch the ventral turret beneath its cockpit, to an _Atlas_ she would be lucky to reach its knee. She stopped in front of her _Rifleman_ and grinned up at it, having to actually resist a temptation to hug its leg. The _Rifleman_ design was by no means aesthetically pleasing, like the sleek _Wolfhound_, nor was it particularly frightening, like the claw-handed _Marauder_. It was purely functional, with few rounded edges, from its winglike radar antenna atop the slab-sided cockpit, to its twin-toed massive feet. The arms ended in quad laser cannons, two on each side; a normal RFL-3N carried two large lasers and two Autocannon/5s, but Maysa had stripped out the troublesome autocannons and their vulnerable ammunition bays for an all-laser armament. She had also managed to get the new double heat sinks installed, so she didn't have to worry too much about heat, always a problem with the _Rifleman_, and used the weight saved in losing the weighty autocannons to improve the armor, especially to the rear; another problem the _Rifleman_ was notorious for was weak rear armor. It was still slow and ponderous, especially compared to Clan 'Mechs, but Maysa wanted no other machine. It glowed with new paint, the slight damage she had taken on Vantaa long since repaired, and its Snowbird crest was stark against the green and brown camouflage. So were the red rings she had painted around the barrels, four on each: some of the techs had kidded her about being vain enough to reproduce each kill on all four barrels. Maysa had modestly not informed them that she really did have sixteen kills, the same as her age.

She heard a noise to her right, and turned to see a tech coming in through the side door. It was a young man, though she guessed he was probably five or six years her senior. The tech was good looking, and Maysa had enough hormones raging in her for her thoughts to leap into the gutter, but she quickly shook those off. One, it wasn't right for a good Catholic girl like her to be thinking about premarital sex, and for another, the tech could get arrested for statutory rape, on Grunwald anyway, where the legal age was eighteen. _I wish I was older,_ she sighed to herself. "Hi," she said, more brightly than she felt.

"Oh, hi," the tech replied. "Hey, aren't you Maysa Bari?" He put out his right hand.

"Um, yeah." She shook hands, feeling herself blushing again. She could see muscles rippling beneath the one-piece tech coverall and wondered why her mouth was suddenly rather dry. "What's your name?" She felt even more embarrassed that she didn't know, but there were over two thousand techs in the Sentinels.

"John Watanabe. Sorry—we haven't met before. I'm a bit of a new guy; I joined up right after Planting."

"Oh, okay." The Sentinels, like most mercenary units, were always chronically short of techs, and Nicia Caii's high standards didn't help in solving that problem. Calla had finally convinced his Master Tech to lower her standards a little. "Um…do you like it here so far?"

"Heck yeah. I was stuck in apprentice hell at RAMTech on New Kyoto, so I decided to strike out on my own. Man, that was kind of a mistake; I was working fast food before I landed this job. Nicia could make me clean toilets and I'd do it." He looked admiringly up at her _Rifleman_. "To be able to work on these monsters is a dream come true. This is your 'Mech, right?"

"Oh, um, yes."

"Looks good—holy crap, is that _sixteen _kills you got there?" Maysa nodded. "Wow! And you're how old?"

"Eighteen," she quickly lied.

"Damn." He shook his head in wonder. "You let me know if you ever need any help with this, Miss Bari. I know you do your own work—least that's what the other guys tell me—but I can hold a wrench if nothing else."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary, Tech Watanabe."

"No, I mean it! I'd love to work on you—er, I mean, _with_ you." He scratched the back of his head, staring at his feet. "Uh, sorry."

Maysa found herself looking for other things to look at as well, because the first thought that had sprung to her mind was that she'd like being worked on. "N-no, t-that's okay. So, um…what brings you out here so late? Miss Caii ordered that everybody knock off work at eleven tonight. There's weapon tests tomorrow." Maysa was glad she had remembered that; it gave her something else to think about besides wondering what Watanabe had on beneath the coverall, if anything. Some techs were known to go commando because it got awfully hot working on 'Mechs. _Stop it!_ she yelled at herself.

"Yeah, I know. Senior Tech Massis wants me to calibrate Major Rhialla's Gauss Rifles. I guess she's been having some trouble sighting them after Vantaa."

"She didn't tell me that."

"Well, it's a minor thing—but you know the Major!"

Maysa blew out her breath. Her adopted mother's temper was legendary. "Boy, do I ever. Uh…do you want some help?"

"Nah. I'll be finished up in half an hour, tops." He was looking at the floor again. "Though, uh, if you're not heading off to bed, I could go for some coffee afterwards. Meet you back here in thirty?"

"You bet!" Maysa said happily, then clamped down on her emotions. _I'm acting like a lovesick schoolgirl!_ she thought, knowing her face now had to be as red as her hair. _Wait a sec, I _am _a lovesick schoolgirl! Ah, the heck with it! It's got to happen someday, falling in love; why not tonight? There's a war on, you know…_ Certainly love, or a reasonable fascimile thereof, was breaking out among the Snowbirds; besides Sheila and Max's whirlwind romance, Maria Thyatis and Charles Badaxe were a firm item, Tessya Blackthorn and Philip Scott had been going out, and regimental gossip—the fastest known form of communication known to man—had it that Elfa Brownoak was pregnant, which wasn't surprising since she and Tooriu Kku were known to be thumping the bed at every opportunity. "See you in thirty, then."

"You got it." Watanabe grinned at her, then waved at her over his shoulder as he walked towards Marion Rhialla's vulture-like _Perennium._ Maysa waved back, then ran out of the 'Mech bay. The barracks were a few blocks away, and she had to shower and change into something more fashionable, if she had anything like that. Plus jump on the internet to make sure about Sudeten's legal age.

* * *

Unbeknownst to either John Watanabe or Maysa Bari, Nicia Caii had heard the entire conversation. She had been about to walk out of her office to get another cup of coffee, but had stopped and quickly ducked behind the leg of a _Crusader_. She fought down laughter and settled for a wide smile as she heard the two young people stumble over their words, both knowing what they wanted to say but unable to get it out right. _Ah, young love,_ she thought, remembering her own youth, the fumbling attempts at romance, and finally meeting the right man who didn't mind a girl who liked to discuss the finer points of the Defiance B3M medium laser over dinner and was more comfortable with a spanner in her hands than flowers. Nicia suppressed a sigh at that; Mister Right had only hung around for ten years before he decided the mercenary life wasn't for him. It had been an amiable divorce, mainly because Nicia agreed with his assessment that she loved her 'Mechs more than him. _Oh well, it was fun while it lasted,_ she thought, then went back to finding that cup of coffee. She poured more of the wonderful liquid, then got another cup and poured a second for Tech Watanabe.

She knew the name; unlike Maysa, Nicia actually _did_ know all 2154 techs in the regiment. She had been reluctant to hire Watanabe, but he had since impressed her, being ready and willing to do even the most mundane of tasks. Had she known such a skilled man had been reduced to working at McDonald's, she would've been less circumspect. Because RAMTech was on the cutting edge of weapons development, she had assigned Watanabe to the team handling integration of the trickle of advanced weaponry reaching the Sentinels. She knew he wasn't on the schedule to calibrate Marion Rhialla's 'Mech, but such last-minute changes were by no means unusual. In fact, Eledore had probably assigned Watanabe to the _Perennium_ because it now had been completely reequipped with new weapons—in addition to the twin Gauss Rifles, it now had extended range ER-PPCs, the second 'Mech to be so equipped besides Arla-Vlata's _Shruiken—_

Nicia stopped. Watanabe had been assigned to integrate the new software for the twin Magna Firestar ER-PPCs on the _Shruiken_ before the Massanutten Valley battle.

She resumed walking, berating herself. _Good heavens, Nicia, you _are _tired. You're jumping at shadows. Watanabe's no saboteur; he doesn't hardly even know anyone in this unit. Besides, a spy wouldn't be sitting there asking Maysa Bari out on a date._

Nicia expertly held both coffee cups in one hand and climbed up the stanchions set into the side of the _Perennium_. She was particularly proud of this machine, because it was her own design. Using the chassis of a wrecked _Marauder II_, she had completely redesigned the head to give it much better all-around vision, as well as giving it a birdlike profile. Two huge Gauss Rifles completely replaced the spindly arms of the standard _Marauder_ series, able to rotate to fire to the rear if necessary, and two PPCs jutted out over the cockpit from the now-flattened rear torso of the 'Mech. Only the legs of the _Perennium_ gave any hint to its previous incarnation. It had been hideously expensive, which limited her to building only two, and even then only after watching Calla Bighorn-Vlata tearing at his rapidly thinning hair as the end cost skyrocketed. She had plans for an even deadlier design that would mount four Clantech Gauss Rifles, but that would have to wait until the House liasion was looking elsewhere, allowing her to "acquire" the weapons, and for the Sentinels to have the money to due the modification. When she was done, however, Nicia was quite sure her pet project would rule the battlefield.

"Tech Watanabe, want some coffee?" she announced as she reached the top of the torso. She heard a clang and a muffled curse, and tried not to laugh: Watanabe had been chest-deep inside one of the Gauss Rifles, and so could not have heard or seen her. "I'm sorry," she said, walking across to sit next to him.

"That's okay—oh, uh, ma'am." He abruptly realized who it was, and accepted the coffee. "You're up awfully late, if you don't mind me saying so, ma'am."

"There's a lot to do. I'd be working double shifts, but we don't have the manpower right now. Did Massis put you up to this?" She motioned with her cup at the open bay inside the Gauss Rifle.

"Yes, ma'am. It's all right. I like the work."

"Mm. I overheard your conversation with MechWarrior Bari." She grinned at his discomfiture. "I have no problem with that, but you might want to shower and change. You smell like lube." Her grin abruptly faded. "Please tell me you're not using lube anywhere near that gun."

Watanabe shook his head vigorously. "No, ma'am! That could cause some real problems in there. I was doing some work on that new _Catapult_ we got earlier. That new housing for the Arrow IV launcher needs all kinds of lubricants."

"Very true. Liao kludge." Nicia used a tech epithet that had been around for a thousand years. "Well, I won't keep you. Checking the connections between the computer and the rifle?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Be careful and make sure you get all the leads attached correctly…don't let your midnight date distract you. That could cause a bad feedback surge, and you will be swabbing out that Gauss with your body if that happens. That's after Marion Rhialla makes you eat your own asshole."

Watanabe's nod was shaky. "Y-Yes, ma'am! I'll make sure Major Rhialla has no problems, ma'am."

"And don't mess with the computer settings. Rhialla has her own system." Nicia paused. "Did you say 'Major' Rhialla? She's a lance commander."

"Uh, right. Sorry. She's just always been a Major to me."

"Uh-huh." Nicia stood, quickly followed by Watanabe. She towered over him, and he was forced to look directly upwards to meet her eyes. "Well, you had better refer to her by her proper rank. She's a stickler about that, along with her daughter's current status as a virgin. And I had better never hear of you calling me by my first name again, Tech Watanabe. It is Miss Caii or Master Tech. _Ming bai le ma?"_

"_Ting dong le,_" Watanabe replied automatically.

"Good." Nicia took four steps, and stopped. She looked over her shoulder. "Didn't know you spoke Chinese, Tech Watanabe."

Watanabe had half-turned back to the Gauss Rifle. "Uh, yes, Master Tech. I picked up a little on New Kyoto, just a bit here and there."

"You even have a Sian accent."

Watanabe had knelt down. "How can you tell?"

Nicia edged further towards the stanchions, setting her coffee cup down. "I can tell if an engine is a Magna or a Vox by the sound it makes; how hard is it for me to identify accents, Tech Watanabe? You stay right there, mister. There's no way you're getting off this base if you try to run, so you just wait until the SLI gets here." She reached into one of her pockets for her comlink.

Watanabe suddenly turned and hurled a wrench at her. Nicia dodged it, but Watanabe was running straight at her and tackled her. At first glance, he was a good foot shorter than her, but her thinness and light bone structure meant that she easily went down beneath him. Her head struck the armored hump of the cockpit and dazed her. Watanabe quickly returned to his toolkit and pulled out a large spanner wrench, used to tighten oversized nuts and bolts common on 'Mechs. "I'm very sorry about this," he whispered to her. "I really don't like engaging in wetwork. Now hold still…I'll try to make this as painless as I can. I want it to look like you slipped and fell, but I'll settle for smashing your windpipe." He aimed the wrench for a part of her head that would kill her instantly, and raised it over his head as she weakly raised a hand in vain defense.

Watanabe heard boots on concrete, and looked up just in time to be hit squarely between the eyes with a thrown screwdriver. It hit handle-first, so it merely caused him to stumble backwards, where he stepped into Nicia's coffee cup and fell hard. Nicia, shaking her head to clear it, reached out, tore the spanner from his hands. Seeing he would be back on his feet before she could do to him what he had intended to do to her, Nicia settled on swinging it into his groin instead. He bellowed in pain and curled into a ball. Nicia dropped the spanner into her largest pocket, withdrew a roll of duct tape from another, and began binding the unresisting, wheezing Watanabe. She heard someone coming up the stanchions, and saw it was Maysa Bari. "Glad you got here. Nice throw with the screwdriver, but you _are_ the best shot in the Snowbirds."

"I saw him knock you down…are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She slapped Watanabe as she rolled tape over his mouth. "Can't say the same for our supposed tech here." She fished out her comlink and threw it to Bari. "Call security, along with your mom. No, make that Major Brownoak—if your mother sees you in that miniskirt, she'll be taking two heads tonight instead of just one."

* * *

"You think he's Maskirovka?" asked Calla Bighorn-Vlata.

"I can't be positive," Nicia replied to her commander. She looked over at John Watanabe, who was still bound in a full roll of duct tape and handcuffed for good measure. His face was puffy as well; the SLI had been none too gentle in dragging him off the _Perennium._ Besides four SLI guards, Elfa Brownoak, Tooriu Kku, Tessya Blackthorn, and Marion Rhialla were also present, as well as Maysa Bari, who had luckily changed into coveralls before her mother, awakened by the commotion, had arrived. Maysa stared at Watanabe , obviously intent on homicide. _A woman scorned,_ Nicia thought with satisfaction. Her head throbbed. "I asked him if he understood in Chinese, and he said that he did in the same language. I'm guessing if his family was really Kurita expatriates, as it says in his personnel file, he would've answered in Japanese, not Chinese—and certainly not with a Sian accent." Nicia paused. "He was also on the same team that integrated the new ER-PPC software on Sheila's _Shruiken._ He would've had ample time to screw around with the battle computer and cause her jumpjets to fail. Why, I don't know."

"Neither do I. So what was he fooling around with on Marion's 'Mech?"

"I started getting a little suspicious when he kept referring to Marion as a major. Marion's been a lance commander for months now, and just about everybody knows that. When I stood up—well, I'm taller than he is, and I saw that he wasn't calibrating the Gauss Rifles, he was crossconnecting the cables for the magnets in the barrel. He had also lubed up the cables to cause a spark. The moment Marion fired those things, it would cause electrical feedback through the neurohelmet…which would electrocute her, the same way it would if the Gauss exploded. It might not kill her, but it would definitely incapacitate her."

"And Romano Liao wants Marion dead. A Death Commando attack would be too obvious, and could even lead to Davion declaring war. But if she made it look like an accident…" Calla shook his head. "Bitch."

"The only thing I don't get is why he was going to take Maysa out for a date. That doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does," Marion spoke up. "He could get close to me through Maysa. Or maybe he might kill her in some dark alley on the way home, just to get to me. Is that it, mister?" Marion reached forward and tore away the strip of duct tape around his mouth. Skin came with it, but Watanabe gritted his teeth and didn't scream. "Talk, bastard! _Ni shi cong nar lai de? Ni jiao shen me ming zi? Ji bai!"_ The last was a horrible insult, and she punctuated it with a kick. Watanabe winced, but said nothing.

"Marion." Calla stepped forward and squatted in front of him. "Listen, Mister Watanabe, or whatever your name is, you have exactly one chance of surviving this, and that's to come clean. Name, rank, serial number to start."

"I have nothing to say," Watanabe finally said.

"I'll make him talk!" Maysa suddenly shouted and darted forward, grabbing Watanabe by his short-cut hair. She was pulled back before she could land a punch by the SLI.

"Listen," Calla told Watanabe, "you're in a Sentinel uniform, wearing that coverall. Under the Ares Conventions, we can take you right out the door, stand you against a wall, and shoot you right here as a spy." Calla emphasized this by pointing directly between Watanabe's eyes. "You have no rights, understand me?"

Watanabe was silent.

"Elfa, Tessya, Marion…come with me for a moment." Calla got up and motioned over the three women. Nicia joined the circle. "I need some ideas. We _can_ shoot the son of a bitch, but if we do that, we'll never know why he went after Sheila, or if he's acting alone or there's a damn Maskirovka team inside the regiment. So we need to get him to talk."

Elfa shrugged. "We could just turn him over to the local MIIO office. They'd probably have him singing in an hour or two."

Marion shook her head. "And have everything he said classified. _I_ want to know, Calla. Romano wants me dead, okay. I've had to deal with her assassins before. But he went after Sheila first. That doesn't make any sense. She didn't humiliate Sun-Tzu; I did."

"Romano Liao's a few wrenches short of a tool set," Nicia said with a half-smile. "She doesn't need to make sense."

"I still want to know, Nicia."

"So do I." Calla sighed. "I doubt he's going to talk anytime soon, though."

"Then we need to _make_ him talk," Marion snarled.

The unspoken word—torture—hung in the air. All of them, even Nicia, had seen the results of Clan torture on Sheila. All of them, especially Calla at the sight of his little girl abused and broken, had been sickened by it. No one wanted to be the one to propose it first.

Marion opened her mouth, but it was Tessya who spoke. "I'll do it." All eyes turned to her. "If this guy was responsible for Sheila being captured, then we're just repaying him in his own coin."

"Fine," Nicia said, "but why you? I mean, I guess we could stuff him down a Gauss Rifle and threaten to use him to swab it out, but that's the only idea I have,"

"I'm a Lacotah," Tessya explained. "Among my people, it was always traditional to leave the torture to the women."

"Over a thousand years ago, yes," Calla said.

"We have a strong oral tradition." Tessya smiled humorlessly. "Though what I have in mind is an old Apache trick. Nicia, I need this…" She explained what she had in mind. Nicia's already pale face turned even paler. "That'll kill him!" she protested.

"Not if he starts talking first."

Nicia hesitated, then sighed and went off to find what Tessya had asked for: a frame for changing engines in a tank, a metal can of some sort, and a small amount of gasoline. Tessya looked to Calla, who nodded, and returned to Watanabe. Marion joined her. Calla looked at both women. Marion's expression indicated she would probably enjoy this; Tessya's was completely blank, devoid of emotion. He wasn't sure which frightened him most.

"Calla," Elfa whispered, "this is wrong! We can't do this. I've heard about what Tessya has in mind—my dad used to tell me stuff like this from his days knocking around Antallos on the Periphery! Some of the pirate bands used to do shit like this for fun!"

"We're not doing it for fun."

"I know, but still! Tessya will bank that fire under the guy's head. If he doesn't simply catch on fire, it'll literally fry his brain. Calla, we just can't do this. It's not right."

"Tell it to Sheila. She's having to relearn how to use her arm." His eyes flashed at Elfa. "For all we know, Elfa, you were next after Marion and Maysa."

Watanabe remained mute even when the SLI cut the coverall off with their naginatas, and still said nothing when they raised him upside down, a foot off the ground, his feet wrapped in heavy chain attached to the frame. It was only when Tessya lit the fire that he began to talk. When she pulled out the slim knife that she always carried in a boot, he began to scream.


	4. Go Your Own Way

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: A little shorter of a chapter this time. I hit what seemed to be like a good ending point. I know I haven't done much in the way of action lately, but that'll be changing soon, I promise._

_This chapter is also sort-of rated NC-17. The way Vornzel and Senefa originally met was too forced. This seems to be a little better…sexier, anyway. There's nothing explicit, other than two Clanfolk in bed discussing Clan philosophy while without apparel. _

_The reference to _muga, _by the way, as part of MechWarrior training was first put forward in _Wolves on the Border; _Minobu Tetsuhara made several references to it. I'm also indebted to Fred Perry's _Gold Digger _for the inspiration for the Sheila vs. Senefa fight scene._

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: 4477 Thire: Glad you like a change from the "spit and polish." There's nothing wrong with Justin Allard! (His son is a bit munchy, though.)_

_Mosin: Good to see you back. Yeah, Maysa having an attack of hormones pretty much gave it away that Watanabe was the spy. Still, I hope it makes sense that he would be trying to make time with his target's daughter to get closer to her. Now poor Maysa's brokenhearted. We'll have to find her a guy. (I think Rouge is single…)

* * *

_

_Katrina Steiner Memorial Hospital_

_Tharkad, Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth_

_25 July 3051_

"Senefa, I don't know why we're doing this." Sheila tested the weight of the quarterstaff. It seemed good enough, though not as heavy as the Tall Trees hardwood version she had used on Planting. With relief, she noticed that Senefa too was using a wooden staff, instead of the steel one she usually preferred. She also wasn't wearing padding, which Sheila was. When Dr. Allard had heard that Senefa and Sheila intended to spar, she had threatened to lock Sheila in her own room if there weren't some protective measures taken. Apparently Allard had no problem with it if Sheila put Senefa into intensive care. Both were wearing loose-fitting robes that doubled as karate _gi_, and both were barefoot.

"I should think it was obvious. You have been doing exercises to learn how to use that new arm, but none of them involve combat." Senefa twirled the staff experimentally. "Are you familiar with the Japanese term _muga?_"

"Sure. It means 'movement without thought.'" When Sheila had been studying the fighting style preferred by the Sentinels Light Infantry, her mother had emphasized that most decisions in tactical combat happened beneath the level of conscious thought.

"You do not have that yet. Without it, you will die the first time you are in 'Mech combat." Senefa let the staff thump onto the thin mat in the hospital gymnasium. "According to Dr. Allard, they will release you from the hospital and allow a return to light duties in three weeks, quia—ah, yes?" Sheila had noted that Senefa had consciously been avoiding the use of Clan colloquialisms, though she still refused to use contractions. At Sheila's nod, Senefa returned the motion. "Then you and I will spar, twice a week, until then."

"All right." Sheila had actually been wanting to get back into doing something a little more martial. Allard had neither encouraged nor discouraged her from getting back in the cockpit, and though she checked on Sheila once a day, she rarely mentioned anything about being a MechWarrior. Dr. Johnson, on the other hand, seemed to never let more than a few hours pass before he reminded her of her pledge to get back into a 'Mech in three months. He drove her hard, but the toughest taskmaster proved to be her own husband. Max pushed Sheila beyond what she had thought to be her limit. While Johnson was mainly concerned with Sheila learning how to use her artificial arm, Max had her doing leg lifts, situps, and running. At the rate she was going, Sheila would be in better shape than she had been before she had been captured. When Sheila was nearly on the verge of tears from the pain in her abused muscles and arm, Max kept her going with encouragement—never threats; apparently Max had not decided on Marion Rhialla as a role model. Though she was now able to eat and bathe without help (though shaving her legs was still a problem; for the first time since she was fifteen, Sheila cursed her height), Max still insisted on helping her. _Well, I guess we're saving water,_ she thought with a silent giggle. At the end of the day, when they returned to their bed, Sheila sometimes so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, Max would hold her until she fell asleep.

Sheila returned her attention to the matter at hand. "All right," she repeated, "but let's have a side bet."

"What would that be?"

"If I beat you in half the sparring sessions, you'll join the Snowbirds."

That brought Senefa up short. "I do not gamble, Sheila," she said at length.

"Too bad. I do." Sheila raised the quarterstaff and pointed it at her. "En garde."

Senefa gave her the ghost of a smile, and aped her motion. _Well,_ Sheila thought, as they began to circle each other on the mat, _at least she'll go easy on me. She knows the docs aren't too thrilled with me doing this yet. I could really get hurt, even with the padding, and…_Sheila caught the look in Senefa's eyes: they were pitiless, like a falcon. _Oh shit. She's not going to go easy on me at all._

Then there was no time to think, because Senefa, silently, suddenly ran straight at her. Her hands moved smoothly to grip the staff, and then she swung it like a baseball bat—right at Sheila's head, with enough force to break her jaw. Sheila reacted instinctively, raising her left hand to block—and did it. The staff still drove her arm back with a thump into the foam padding she wore around her head, which would've hurt had she _not_ been wearing it, but the fact was that she had blocked the strike, even if her hand still refused her mental order to grab Senefa's staff. She grinned nonetheless. "I did it—"

Then she realized Senefa was still moving. Her right hand still gripped the staff, but her left shot out, grabbed Sheila's right wrist, and jerked it towards her, turning slightly so Sheila's staff would have no leverage. Sheila, off-balance from having blocked the staff strike and the weight of her arm, was pulled straight into Senefa's upraised knee. It knocked the air from Sheila's lungs and nearly her breakfast from her stomach. Senefa followed it up with a vicious haymaker that sent her flying down the mat.

"Good God, Senefa!" Sheila exclaimed, once she got her breath back. "I'm trying to get out of the hospital, not to stay in it longer!"

"Then defend yourself," Senefa said coolly, and to Sheila's disgust, she was not even sweating. "Or attack. Do not stand there! You should realize by now that I am not attacking your wounded arm, but your entire body!"

"_Hai, sensei,_" Sheila said, dripping with sarcasm. She got to her feet, the nerves in her left shoulder screaming with pain. She took a deep breath, readied her staff, and gave Senefa a "get over here" gesture. Senefa scowled, shook her head, and once more just ran straight at her. Sheila dropped down, both hands on her staff, to present as small a target as possible. _Let's see…she's going to try to swing under my staff and disarm me, just like I did to her on Planting—_

Sheila was wrong. Instead, Senefa, when she was less than five steps away, dived to the mat, using her staff to plant her hands, then brought her legs down where Sheila was. Sheila hastily jumped out of the way, but Senefa merely somersaulted, came back on her feet—and then swung under Sheila's staff. Sheila spun out of the way and blocked Senefa's next two strikes. She tried a thrust, missed, then had to duck to avoid Senefa's attack, only to find that had been a setup as well: now Senefa had her staff trapped, and Sheila was once more offbalance.

Suddenly, she had an idea. As Senefa snapped her staff to the right to disarm her, Sheila let her. The lack of resistance surprised Senefa for a half-second, and Sheila saw her chance. She grabbed Senefa with both hands and used a simple judo throw to pitch her face-first onto the mat. Before Senefa could squirm free, Sheila gripped her arm even tighter, putting the weight of her body into the hold and planting her right elbow into Senefa's back. Held down in such an awkward position, Senefa could not use her staff very well. "Got you," Sheila puffed out. "Give up?"

Senefa only smiled over her shoulder. She paused, took a deep breath, then jerked her body to the right. With an audible crunch, she dislocated her own shoulder. Senefa let loose a guttural scream of pain that turned into a war cry, and Sheila instinctively let go. Twisting around, Senefa stabbed her staff into Sheila's face—and stopped a millimeter from her nose. "Yield?" she asked. Sheila could only dumbly nod. Senefa sighed, slowly got to her feet, then slammed her dislocated shoulder against the nearest wall. "_Freebirth!"_ she shouted. "Ah, that hurts!"

"Then why did you do it, you crazy bitch?" Sheila yelled at her. "Go get a doctor to look at that!"

"It is fine. I have done that before, when I was still in the sibko—it was how I killed my falconer." She massaged the shoulder, wincing. "Well done, Sheila."

"For what?" Sheila stood up. "You beat me."

"Yes, that is true. I also had to use a desperation tactic to do so. You did not think I would damage myself to win the fight. That is a lesson I was reminded of when you beat me—I was too ready to believe I had beaten you, since you were barely resisting my blows. Then when I attempted to finish you, you ambushed me."

"You did the same to me on Vantaa."

"Again, yes. And that is a lesson you must learn, Sheila. If you are to beat the Clans, you must never stop. You must kill. Destroy your enemy. Do not leave him behind you to grow stronger and ambush you again. Do not assume that because he seems weak he is not strong."

"Any other pearls of wisdom?" Sheila asked sarcastically.

Senefa chose to ignore it. "Not at the moment. Shall we practice again tomorrow?"

Sheila rubbed her own shoulder. "Let's wait until the day after tomorrow. Dr. Johnson's going to have a fit when he finds out what I did—not to mention what you did."

"What I did is irrevalent to Dr. Johnson. What _you_ did today was to use that arm instinctively and without thought. _Muga,_ in other words." Senefa smiled again and bowed to Sheila. "Day after tomorrow then. Fair weather to you, Sheila."

Sheila returned the bow. When she straightened up, Senefa was gone.

* * *

An hour later, Senefa was in bed back at her hotel, sore, tired, and strangely at peace. Nor was she alone. She looked over at the giant man in bed next to her. "Well…that was a most pleasant surprise, Elemental Star Commander Vornzel."

Vornzel, his bulk taking up over half the bed, smiled. Senefa was half an inch below six feet, and Vornzel was seven inches taller and twice as broad. Like most Elementals, he had muscles like a bodybuilder. "I have never coupled with a MechWarrior before. I always thought you were too delicate."

"And I have never coupled with an Elemental. I always thought you were too slow and bulky." Senefa felt her skin tingle at the memory. Vornzel had been sent by the commandant of the POW camp to contact Senefa, which was all that she had gotten out of him. He had surprised Senefa coming out of the shower wearing a very flimsy towel. They had stared at each other for a long moment after Vornzel stammered out his mission…and here they were, naked and still breathing heavily. Senefa decided that if the room was bugged, they had certainly just given Lohengrin quite the show.

"I hope I have dispelled that stereotype, quiaff?"

"Aff. Most definitely—along with the one that Elementals are not inventive when it comes to tactics." Senefa briefly played with his dreadlocks.

"Why did we do that? It was not what I came here for, Star Colonel Senefa Malthus."

The use of her old Clan rank effectively killed the mood. "Please, Vornzel. I am merely Senefa. As for why we did that...blood calls to blood, I suppose. You and I have little interest in Inner Spherians, and I doubt you have much opportunity to couple at the POW camp. Biological and social needs did the rest." Senefa drew her knees up to her chin. "Did you come here to kill me?"

Vornzel leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head. "If I did, I have done a rather poor job. No, Star Col—Senefa. I was sent here by the camp commandant to ask if you would be joining us there."

"Why would I do that?"

Vornzel looked puzzled. "You would be the senior officer of the camp. As such, you would be in command, and he is interested in coordinating with you regarding the organization and care of the prisoners."

Senefa laughed, bitterly, a jarring contrast to her exclaimations of passion just a few minutes previously. "And I would be killed, Vornzel! There is a price on my head. I am worth a Bloodname slot, dead."

"Not if you come back." Vornzel, with more tenderness than she had thought possible in an Elemental, reached out and caressed her back. It was a move that surprised himself as much as her. They did not know each other other than in chance meetings if Senefa had business with Khan Elias Crichell or saKhan Cavell Malthus. He was older than her, and they had never served together in the field. They were merely two people suddenly cast adrift, Senefa thought, in a world they did not understand, which explained a lot as to why they had ended up in bed. "You could come back," he repeated. "Tell the Spheroids you were not in your right mind. Tell them you were wrong to leave the Clan. Listen," he said, dropping his voice, "I have heard that we will be exchanged at some point, possibly for Spheroid prisoners."

"That is not the Clan way."

"We are not fighting another Clan," Vornzel countered. "It is not likely that this Federated Commonwealth will adopt us into their 'clan.'"

"No…not likely." Senefa found herself wanting to tell him of Sheila's offer, but hesitated.

"Then we will likely be returned to our Clan. It is not unprecedented among us—the Remembrance mentions that Nicholas Kerensky agreed to prisoner exchanges on occasion. In any case, Senefa, if we are exchanged, you can prove your innocence in a Circle of Equals. No one will dispute you."

"I will still be stripped of rank, Vornzel. Even if I was not, I would be put in command of dezgra units, or garrison Clusters."

"At least you would be part of the Clan again."

She looked at him. "And all I need do is admit I was duped by the Federated Commonwealth into making the wrong choice." Vornzel nodded. Senefa fought down an urge to snap his neck. "But I was not wrong, Vornzel!"

He no longer looked puzzled. Now he looked shocked. "About what, Senefa? Front Royal? Athena Henderson? That was tragic and worse, stupid—but it is not worth throwing away your career, your place in the Clan, everything you have!"

"I have _nothing!"_ Senefa erupted. "I have _nothing_ in the Clan!" She flung off the covers and stood, suddenly unable to even be close to him, and what he represented. "Athena murders dozens of people, and _nothing_ is done. The saKhan even said it served as an example! Then he puts her in charge of torturing a woman who was more innocent than she was. Sheila opposed us as a warrior of honor, not as a murderer!"

Vornzel sat up. "He did it because of your obsession with this Sheila Arla-Vlata," he replied, keeping his voice even. "What is this spell she has over you?"

"She has none. Sheila abruptly reminded me that I have a conscience, that is all." She rammed her hands on her hips, spearing him with a glance that she wished would set Vornzel afire. "I wonder where yours is, Star Commander—or if you merely were not issued one."

She half expected him to attack her. Instead, Vornzel met her gaze for a moment, then turned away, folding his hands over his muscled stomach. "I have a conscience, Senefa. I volunteered to help with that avalanche a few days ago, because it was the right thing to do. And I was told by some of my comrades in the camp—good men and women—that I would be doing the Clan a service by killing you." He looked at his huge hands. "It would not be an easy thing, and of course the guard outside would kill me if you did not…but even you must admit that it would be better for the Jade Falcons. However," he said with emphasis, "I am not a murderer. If you are to die, Senefa, it will be in battle." He sighed heavily, then got up. "Where will your conscience take you now, Senefa?"

That brought her up short. Her anger evaporated. "I do not know…but I cannot serve the Jade Falcons again, Vornzel. What Elias Crichell, Vandervahn Chistu, and yes, even Cavell Malthus have done, is perverted what the Clans stood for. We are not fighting with honor. We are not liberators. We are conquerors, taking what we will from the Inner Sphere. Maybe it was the great Kerenskys dream to return here and reestablish the Star League…but not like this. Not like this. Not at this price."

"You sound like part of the Warden faction."

Senefa considered that. The Wardens always said that the Clans were created to protect the Inner Sphere from vague outer threats, or such terrible internal strife that the Clans would have to step in to prevent genocide. As Senefa had learned from her books, the Clans were a few hundred years too late for that. At least one planetary genocide had already taken place on Kentares IV only a few decades after Kerensky had left. But that had been centuries ago, and if the Inner Sphere was no closer to civilization than it had been in 2786, it was certainly not to the point that it needed the Clans to restore order. In fact, with the rise of the Federated Commonwealth, it was probably closer to the Star League than the Clans were. Senefa wondered if that had been the real reason for the invasion: that the Crusader faction in the Clans feared the Inner Sphere would become the very thing the Clans supposedly were meant to protect, without the Clans' "help." It meant the Crusaders would rather strangle a new Star League in the cradle rather than let it grow to maturity. _That is not what the Kerenskys wanted,_ Senefa thought, _and if it was, they were wrong._ "I suppose perhaps I am," she finally told the Elemental, "but I have no wish to join the Wolves or the Snow Ravens."

Vornzel chuckled. "It is good to see you have not lost all sense, then."

"Sheila Arla-Vlata has offered a place in her unit to me—to 'adopt' me, as we know the term."

Vornzel raised an eyebrow. "Will you take her up on it?" he asked, to Senefa's surprise, very calmly.

"I…do not know."

"You should." He slipped on his briefs, then began to pull on his shirt. He noticed her utterly shocked look. "Senefa, you are a warrior. You will always be that. We were meant to fight. It is our existence. Without it, we would have no purpose." He shrugged. "If Sheila Arla-Vlata were to make the same offer to me, I would at the very least think about it. After all, how many _abtakha_ are in our Clan? I know a few. We do not look down upon them. Even the accursed Athena Henderson is one. There is no dishonor in it—in fact, there is dishonor if you do _not_ accept. A Steel Viper commander offering to adopt me would risk the disapproval of his peers, even his own career. I suspect Arla-Vlata does the same."

"I would be fighting against the Clan."

"As you would if Arla-Vlata was a Steel Viper or Wolf. There is no difference."

"Arla-Vlata is not Clan—"

"It makes no difference."

Senefa shook her head. "This makes no sense. Why are you telling me this, Vornzel?"

"Because I am _Clan,_ Senefa. I think what you did was wrong, but since you will not come back to our Clan—and I admit you do make a compelling case, for change if nothing else—this is the path you must follow. There is none other for our kind. Nor should we wish there to be."

Senefa looked at her feet and smiled. "I did not know there were philosopher genes among the Elementals."

"Philosopher?" Vornzel snorted derisively. "Neg. I am only telling the truth."

Senefa strode forward, gripped a surprised Vornzel by his dreadlocks, and pulled him down to her lips. When they parted, she nodded. "You are indeed. It may mean that we next meet as enemies on the field."

"So be it. Better a warrior's death than wasting away in a camp—or this hotel." He said the word as if it was poisonous. "I hope that does not occur. The only battlefield I wish to meet you on is this one." He pointed to the bed.

"Ah. Well, perhaps we can arrange a Trial of Positions at some point." They both laughed at her pun, then he surprised her by kissing her passionately. "I shall inform the commandant that you have decided to join the Snowbirds. I shall tell the others that you were adopted." He straightened his shirt. The seams were no longer razor-sharp, but it would pass inspection. He nodded. "Goodbye, Senefa Malthus."

She wanted to correct him on the Bloodname, but decided not to. Why should she? That was hers. She had earned it. "Goodbye, Vornzel." He left, making sure his bulk blocked any view of the room—or Senefa, who was still nude. Once the door was closed, Senefa dressed, and looked outside. The sun was struggling to break out of the clouds, and she felt entirely at peace. She knew that if she explained why she did to Sheila Arla-Vlata, the other woman would not understand. Only Clanfolk would—that a woman cut off from her Clan could still find peace within its way.

_The Crusaders are wrong,_ she thought as she smiled, feeling the sun on her face. _I must stop them. If that means fighting them from without than within, then so be it, as Vornzel said. Once I have won, then perhaps I will rejoin the Jade Falcons, because then they will no longer be misguided._

Senefa thought long about it. It would take years, she knew. Perhaps it would never come to fruition at all, but she had to try. That she would emerge victorious she did not doubt. Because she was Clan.


	5. For Your Eyes Only

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Chapter 5. This one's talky, but we'll have some action in the next chapter. I really had some writer's block with this thing, until I realized that the best way to overcome that is to start writing and let the characters resolve it. Sometimes these things _do _write themselves._

_This story more or less introduces Max's mother Mira in it. She's been mentioned before, but never "seen." This actually sets up what I'm hoping to be a rather poignant reunion between Max and his estranged father later on._

_I'm not really sure if Simon Johnson, the head of the Lyran Intelligence Corps, would be still alive in 3051. I assumed that he wasn't as old as he seemed in _Warrior: En Garde, _and went with that. I also assumed that Loki and Lohengrin remained nominally independent of the Davion MIIO after unification of the Federated Commonwealth. For those of you unfamiliar with that time of history, Lavrenti Beria was the former head of the NKVD, what became the KGB, and was known for his ruthlessness and willingness to kill anyone who got in his, or namely Stalin's, way. And I couldn't resist a little foreshadowing when it comes to Melissa Steiner-Davion…_

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: FraserMage: sorry, you'll have to wait a few chapters before I reveal what 'Mech Senefa will have. _

_Rouge: Sorry. At least in this story nobody's running around naked. I might have to write a Circle of Equals between you and GreenKnight for the hand of Maysa Bari…_

_4477: I don't know who Malvina Hazen is (I assume she's a MWDA character), but Senefa probably wouldn't have much time for Diana Pryde. Senefa still has a bit of prejudice towards Clan freebirths as warriors, and Diana is far too much of a fanatic. _

_Mosin: Thanks. I'm not sure if you're referring to "touchy" subjects such as torture or "TOUCHY!" subjects such as sex. But I try._

_Kat: Good to see you again. (I really need to get on your new story and R&R it.) Hope both of you liked it. I would've included Sigurd, but I'm not sure what he's doing at this point in history. _

_Sulli: I'm glad you like Senefa and I hope I'm not moving Sheila forward too fast. And if you want someone included in this, I'm okay with that. The Snowbirds need new cannon fodder...er...recruits anyway. ;)

* * *

_

_Wolf's Dragoons General Headquarters_

_Outreach, Sarna March, Federated Commonwealth_

_3 August 3051_

"Incredible," Hanse Davion said, shaking his head. "Simply incredible." He let the papers fall to the table and took off his reading glasses. "I'm glad Calla didn't entrust this to ComStar, Commander Canis-Vlata."

Mira Canis-Vlata still stood at parade rest, her hands behind her back. Unlike her cousin Calla, Mira's hair was auburn showing no hint of gray, and she was rail-thin. She looked much younger than her 47 years. Hanse noted in passing that she had feathered her makeup around her left eye, in exactly the same manner as Melissa Steiner-Davion still did. Other than that, her military bearing was as crisp as a new recruit. "Thank you, sir. We felt it was just too explosive to set to paper or ComStar." She paused. "I apologize for the somewhat unorthodox means of getting here."

Hanse chuckled and waved it away. "No apologies necessary, Commander." Mira had claimed a national emergency to use the command circuit between Outreach and Sudeten. Somehow, she had wangled a priority from Morgan Hasek-Davion, which cleared the way. Instead of the month it would normally take to get between Sudeten and Outreach, it had only taken a little over a week.

Justin Allard set the papers down on his desk as well. "Commander, who else knows about this?"

"Only the people in the room—Commander Bighorn-Vlata, Master Tech Caii-Senla, Majors Rhialla and Brownoak, and MechWarrior Maysa Bari. Plus myself and General Hasek-Davion." She didn't mention that her own husband Todd and Calla's wife Arla also knew.

"Can your people keep a secret?"

"Yes, Minister Allard. Absolutely."

"Good. See that they do so." Mira heard the threat in his voice.

"It's vital that we keep this quiet," Melissa Steiner-Davion said, to take the edge off Allard's words. "If this were to get out…"

"I understand, Archon. Will there be anything else?"

"Not for now." Hanse folded his hands on top of the papers. "I'd like you to stay on Outreach for 24 hours. Will that be all right?"

"Certainly, sir." Mira knew Davion was playing the politician; he could simply order her to stay.

"Thank you, Commander. How's your husband?"

"Doing well, sir. He's on Tharkad, visiting my son and daughter-in-law. It's Sheila's birthday today," she added.

"Oh? That's wonderful. After we're done here, you can take the command circuit to Tharkad. You'll be late, but I think Sheila will appreciate it. She's a remarkable girl." Hanse smiled. "That's all for now, Commander."

"Thank you, sir." Mira snapped to attention, saluted, spun on one heel, and left the room. She had not expected to stay in any case, and knew that whatever the trio in the room came up with, she was to be used as a courier. Command circuits were hideously expensive, and the Prince of the Federated Commonwealth was not going to use one for a lowly mercenary.

Once the door had slid shut, Hanse turned to Justin. "Well, what do you think?"

Justin tapped his metal hand on the table in thought. "Highness, it's certainly genuine, and Calla did exactly the right thing in sending his cousin with the information. We can't even transmit this by fax." Justin leaned forward and thumbed through the reports. "Calla didn't even put it on a disk. This looks like it was printed from his own computer."

"I wish he had come by the information in another fashion," Melissa sighed, "but desperate times call for desperate measures."

"The spy's lucky Calla didn't have him shot out of an autocannon," Hanse said.

"Certainly, husband…but to build a fire under his head?"

"I agree the methods were a bit on the brutal side," Justin told her, "but they're less than he would've gotten in Romano's prisons. Besides, from what it looks like, he talked before any permanent damage was done." Hanse supposed that depended on what permanent damage meant. Watanabe—whose real name was Ke Yi—had suffered second-degree burns to his head and his hair had been badly singed. The final straw had been when Tessya Blackthorn had held a skinning knife to Yi's genitals. Hanse wondered if Blackthorn would've carried out her threat. Yi had broken completely at that point.

What he had said was earthshaking. While he had no idea of Everson's mission to the Clans, he had been the one who had smuggled the Liao ambassador onto a Sentinel DropShip on Sudeten, then smuggled him off on Vantaa. From there, Everson had been handed off to Liao agents already on Vantaa, who had gotten Everson to the Clan lines. However, that had not been Yi's primary objective. He had been assigned to join the Sentinels, who were desperate for techs after Planting, to get close to Marion Rhialla, and then kill her. Before he did that, however, he was also supposed to murder Maysa Bari, to make Rhialla suffer even more. It bore all the marks of a Romano Liao vendetta—the same reason she had assigned a Maskirovka assassin to kill the children of Daniel Allard, Justin's half-brother, merely to hurt Justin. The assassin had gotten the wrong house and attacked Phelan Kell instead, only to be killed by Phelan's dog, who had also died in the attack. Hanse understood Tessya Blackthorn's cruelty: most mercenary units, the Sentinels more than most, were like families. For some, it was the only family they ever had. Attacking one of them was an attack on all of them; attacking their children—and it was clear most of the Sentinels and the Snowbirds saw Maysa as a kid sister—was tantamount to a declaration of war.

"The report didn't say that they killed him," Melissa put in.

"No. He's being held incommunicado for now. We might be able to turn him," Justin said, "make him into a double agent for us." He didn't have to say what the alternative was. A spy could expect no mercy. He rubbed his eyes with his right hand, the one that was still flesh and blood. "We can't do much about Romano, short of invading Capellan space, other than leaking that her assassin failed. As much as I respect Marion Rhialla, in the great scheme of things, she's small beer. What's really disturbing is that now we have independent confirmation that Duke Samuel Bonner is working with Romano Liao to undermine the Clan front. We can have no doubt that he had every intention of working with the Clans as well."

"We can't arrest him," Melissa said. "He and Ryan would try to spin it as suppressing dissent."

"Worse," Hanse added. "He might plead guilty as charged. There's enough people who don't see much of a problem with trying to appease the Clans. This would give them a martyr."

"Then we have only one option." Melissa's voice was cold. "Bonner has to die."

Hanse looked over at his wife and the mother of his children. He admitted that he was a bit old-fashioned: while Hanse certainly had no trouble with female warriors, it didn't seem right that a woman of such gentleness as Melissa could be so ruthless as to order political assassination. Yet she was right. Bonner would not stop. He would try again, and if the Jade Falcons were not willing to listen to him, eventually he would find someone in the Clans who would. And if he did, the Clan front would collapse, and they would be staring not just defeat in the face, but disaster. All three of them in the room knew from Senefa Malthus' testimony that the Clans' eventual objective was Terra, but none of them believed that they would stop there. So, it was really that simple.

"I have to agree," Justin said after a period of silence. "I'm just not sure how we do it. Normally, if we had to remove someone in another realm, we'd send the Black Foxes of MIIO, or Loki intel, or even Lohengrin. This is different. If Bonner suddenly dies of a 7.62 millimeter heart attack, then it's going to be suspected that it was ordered by us—specifically you, Your Highness." He nodded in Hanse's direction, then gave a gallows laugh. "Of course, they'd be right in this case, which makes it worse. We have to make it look like we didn't do it."

"Maskirovka," Hanse said. "Romano Liao kills him."

"I like it, Highness, but the tabloids are going to have a field day as it is. Romano has no motive."

"Then we publicize his dealings with Liao," Melissa snapped. She looked away. "I'm sorry, Justin. It's just that I can't believe one of our—one of ­_my_ noble subjects, a Steiner—is acting like this. I didn't mean to yell at you; it's not your fault."

"No offense taken, Archon. And it's not a bad idea. Unfortunately, what we can publicize—Everson and Yi—we can't prove. Ryan Steiner will ask very pointed questions. The only way we would get lucky is if Romano brags about it, but I know Tsen Shang—" he referred to Romano's husband, the head of the Maskirovka secret police, and formerly Justin's friend "—he'll make sure that the Capellan Confederation denies everything. I can gather more evidence that will definitely tie Bonner to Romano, given time…but we really don't have the time. We don't know how many other emissaries Bonner and Romano have out there, or when the Clans will renew a general offensive."

"Not to mention it would expose many of our agents inside Sian, which we cannot do." Hanse shook his head. "So Liao's out. Marik has no motive at all, and Thomas Marik will deny it even more than Romano would; he might also delay the arms shipments we need to refurbish our units. Kurita is out, of course. That leaves the Clans." Hanse snapped his fingers. "Of course. We publicize Bonner's dealings with the Jade Falcons and make it look as if they killed him in revenge."

"Actually," Justin corrected, "I don't think we'd even need to. We've just now convinced the populace that the Clans aren't some sort of alien species. They're capable of anything. We don't even need to publicize anything at all."

"'Truth is so precious she must be protected by a bodyguard of lies,'" Melissa quoted. "We say that Bonner had offered peace to the Clans and they killed him for it. He dies a martyr...for the cause of the nation, not of himself or Free Skye." She looked down again, this time at the papers in front of her. _Is this what I have come to?_ the Archon asked herself. _Planning the murder of a man? How many have to die for this nation? Is this how I will die, my death plotted by others who believe they're doing the right thing for the good of the Federated Commonwealth?_ Hanse's fingers gripped her shoulder, and she took strength from it.

"How do we do it?" Justin repeated. "We need more information about the Jade Falcons. We certainly can't send OmniMechs to Furillo, even if we had them to spare. It has to be done by a small wetworks squad." He used the common intelligence euphemism for an assassination unit. "The Black Foxes can do it, but they have to be able to act as Clanners. The best unit for this would actually be Wolf's Seventh Kommando, but I doubt he'd be a party to a political hit. There's also too much potential for a leak. So how do we get the Foxes to act like Clanners?"

"Put Clanners among them," Hanse answered. "And it just so happens we have one on Tharkad."

"Senefa Malthus?" Justin thought about it a moment. "That's a good idea, Highness, but I doubt she'd do it. From what we've learned from her and Jaime Wolf, the Clans look down on political assassinations. They'd simply call Bonner out to a duel. We can't do that--unfortunately."

"What if she had a motive?" Hanse asked.

"Maybe. But what motive would she have?"

"Not her, specifically…but Sheila Arla-Vlata will have one. And where Sheila goes, Senefa tends to follow." Hanse nodded, both to Justin and himself. "And I don't think we'll have much trouble convincing Sheila that Bonner has to die."

* * *

_The Triad_

_Tharkad, Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth_

_10 August 3051_

Sheila Arla-Vlata did her best to remain seated and not start pacing the small, drab, windowless room deep in the bowels of the titanic complex known as the Triad. It was the nerve center, headquarters, and ruling palace of House Steiner and the Lyran Commonwealth. She envied Senefa, sitting next to her, who merely stared into space, as unmoving as a statue. Only a slight twitch of her hands betrayed that the ex-Clanswoman was still as nervous as Sheila.

Sheila noticed that a change had come over her new friend, and was glad to see it. Senefa seemed to be feeling better, and though there had been little time to talk as the Lohengrin agents bundled them into a hoverlimo, Sheila sensed that whatever decision Senefa had made, it was the correct one. There had been time to exchange small talk in the limo, but with two frowning, sunglassed agents sitting across from them, it didn't seem appopriate.

Nor could Sheila figure out why they had been brought here. Senefa was one thing—Sheila was under no illusion that the Lyran Commonwealth's secret service, Loki, would be every bit as willing to engage in torture as Athena Henderson had been—but Sheila had done nothing wrong. She'd heard horror stories of Loki going wild when her father had been a boy, during the rule of Alessandro Steiner, Melissa's grandfather, but the service had long since been purged and brought under control. Neither was bound, though neither had been allowed to bring a weapon, and Senefa had been searched thoroughly; still, whatever this was, it couldn't be good.

A door neither had noticed slid open and a man of average height walked in, carrying a folder. In fact, Sheila thought, everything about this man could be classified as average for a man probably approaching or past seventy. His hair was white and he was dressed in a simple business suit that one could buy off the racks in a mall. Only his eyes stood out: Sheila had never met anyone whose eyes looked to be coal black. He came to a stop in front of them, looked at them briefly, then put out a hand, to Sheila first, then Senefa. "Hello," he said in a friendly voice, "my name is Simon Johnson."

Sheila felt herself involuntarily swallow. She'd heard of Johnson; few people hadn't, though fewer had actually seen him. This nondescript man in front of her was the shadowy head of the Lyran Intelligence Corps, the overseer of the various Lyran intelligence agencies such as Loki and Lohengrin, though nominally under the command of the Davion-based MIIO. Depending on whom one believed, Johnson had either benevolently overseen the transformation of LIC from Alessandro's secret police to one of the most efficient intelligence services in the Inner Sphere, or he was the second coming of Lavrenti Beria. He quickly noticed Sheila going pale, and smiled. "Ah, not to worry, Commander. Neither one of you is in any sort of trouble. Besides, given both of you ladies' reputation for martial achievements, I doubt I could exactly clap you in irons." Sheila doubted that: she had a feeling Johnson, despite being older than both of them put together, could probably beat hell out of herself and Senefa. He took a seat behind a desk that was the room's only furnishing.

"So what are we here for, sir?" Sheila asked.

"No reason to beat around the bush," Johnson admitted. "Have you heard of Duke Samuel Bonner?" His eyes flicked to Senefa. "I see _you_ have, Senefa."

At Sheila's questioning glance, Senefa told her, "Bonner is the man who arranged the Liao agent Everson to contact the Jade Falcons regarding a peace deal." Seeing the confusion on Sheila's face, Senefa explained Everson's vain attempt to conclude a nonaggression pact with the Clans, at the expense of the Federated Commonwealth, which Everson had paid for with his life. "I thought perhaps Athena had spoken of it."

That brought the nightmares of the cell crawling back, but Sheila, with visible effort, shut those thoughts off. "She was a little busy making me bawl, crawl, and climb the walls."

"I've read your report, Senefa," Johnson said. "I'm surprised Everson would name Bonner."

"He was trying to impress me," Senefa replied. "He thought that by ingratiating himself, he would make a better impression."

"He didn't know you very well," Sheila smiled.

"Indeed."

Johnson leaned forward. "Commander Arla-Vlata, it might interest you to know that it was Bonner who supplied Everson with his information."

"And therefore was the man who led to me being tortured." Sheila shook her head. "Figures. How did he know about the JOSG?"

"He had sat in on a meeting when it was discussed, as a representative of Ryan Steiner. We didn't want the _loyal _opposition not knowing what we were up to." Johnson's emphasis on 'loyal' told them how much he really considered Steiner or Bonner's loyalty. "Now it's one thing to be against the war, or against the Federated Commonwealth, or even against Houses Steiner and Davion. It's quite another to commit sedition."

"If you want me to testify against him, I'm more than happy to," Sheila said in a half-growl. Senefa's nod indicated her willingness to testify as well.

"Unfortunately, the evidence we have does not hold up in court, and Bonner would turn it into a media circus. We don't want that." Sheila shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had a bad feeling she knew what Johnson was going to suggest. "You've guessed it, Commander," he said, instantly noticing the movement.

"Bonner must die," Senefa spoke flatly. "Sensible. He would have already been challenged in the Clans."

"Sadly, we don't have that luxury here," Johnson sighed, then looked at them with fiery intensity. "What I am about to say will not leave this room. If you even breathe a whisper of it—even to your husband, Commander, or your lover, Senefa—I will be forced to arrange several fatal accidents. I don't want to do that, so don't force me to. What is said here stays here, understood? _Quiaff?_" he added for Senefa's benefit.

Sheila swallowed nervously again. Johnson was certainly capable of carrying out his threat. Had he railed at her or snarled at her, Sheila wouldn't have taken it seriously, but Johnson had said it almost conversationally. "Yes, sir," Sheila answered quietly. "Aff," Senefa replied, equally subdued.

"Good. The fact remains that we need Bonner to be eliminated. Not only has he betrayed his country and trafficked with agents of House Liao, he's party to a conspiracy to destroy us from within. The _problem_ remains that he can't simply disappear. He's a public figure, known, even popular in his own circles, namely Free Skye. He has no known political enemies, besides the ruling families of the Federated Commonwealth, and certainly no one would have a motive to murder him…except the Clans." Senefa started at that. "So tell me, Senefa…how _would _the Clans go about eliminating someone who has betrayed them?"

Senefa shot out of her seat. Sheila got up, not as quickly, and put her hands out, afraid Senefa was going to attack Johnson. "Senefa, don't do anything—"

The Clanswoman regained control of herself, and stared daggers at Johnson. "We would challenge him to a Trial of Refusal, a Circle of Equals," she said through clenched teeth. "We would _not_ stoop to assassination!"

"And if he refused?"

"He would not!"

Johnson tapped a finger against his chin. "Clan Wolverine did." Senefa's mouth dropped open in complete surprise. "Senefa, you are aware that Jaime Wolf is a Clansman himself, quiaff?" She dumbly nodded. "He's given us a fairly complete rundown on Clan history. In that history, he mentioned a Clan Wolverine, whom you know simply as the Not-Named Clan. Apparently they did something very terrible."

"Aff," Senefa replied slowly. "They used nuclear weapons."

"And they also refused to fight according to Clan tradition—thereby refusing a Circle of Equals." Johnson motioned towards her seat, and both women sat down. "Senefa, what Bonner is doing is just as bad as using a nuclear weapon. In fact, it's worse. At least the use of a nuclear weapon against an enemy would make sense, in certain situations. What Bonner is doing is betraying everyone on the front lines right now. If he had his way, that line would be swept aside to allow the Clans to reach Terra unopposed." He held up a hand to forestall her protests. "Yes, your saKhan Cavell Malthus refused. But who is to say that Bonner won't find a more willing ear later on? Can you honestly tell me, Senefa, that there are none in the Clans who would listen?"

Senefa stared back defiantly, then faltered, and looked at her boots. "No," she answered quietly. "There are…those who would listen."

Johnson raised his hands in a 'there you are' gesture. "Then you see that I have no choice, Senefa. And unfortunately, to prevent a civil war, Bonner has to be killed in such a fashion that the Clans are held responsible for it. I'm sorry, I truly am, but again I have no choice."

"It…is not…correct," Senefa said. The words didn't seem to be enough.

"No, Senefa, it isn't," Johnson answered gently. "In my position sometimes, I have to be as incorrect as a man can be. I may burn in hell for it, but I won't watch my country be taken apart by a traitor."

"Monsters we are, lest monsters we become," Sheila said. Johnson nodded.

Senefa sighed. "How do you plan on doing this thing?"

"We will use the Black Foxes—MIIO's special forces team. These men and women are selected for their skill and their unwavering loyalty to the Federated Commonwealth. There will be no leaks." That was as much a threat as a statement of fact. "Where I need you, Senefa, is to tell us how they would act if they were Clanpeople—uniforms, military usage, that sort of thing."

Senefa took a deep breath, glanced at Sheila, then leaned forward. "You need Elementals, which you do not have."

"Senefa, the Clans use unarmored infantry," Sheila said.

"Yes, but only as second-line garrison troops."

"So? The people back home, like around here, don't know that! We don't know half of what the Clans have. I've overheard Clanners talking about tanks and helicopters, but I've never seen any."

"The Jade Falcons do not use them…Clans such as Hell's Horses do, of course—"

"Right! And no one in the Inner Sphere's ever seen Hell's Horses! For all they know, the Clans have a spec-ops unit no one's ever seen. Hell, maybe they do, Senefa, but _you've_ never seen them!"

Senefa gave something between a shrug and a nod. "I suppose so."

Johnson chuckled. "Perhaps I should give you a job, Sheila." He opened the folder and spread out photographs and floorplans of a mansion. "Duke Bonner's house on Furillo. I can show you some holos later, but we don't have a projector in here. How would the Clans assault this?"

Senefa leaned forward. She stared at the plans for a long time in silence, occasionally picking up photos and looking at them. She turned the map around, studying it from all angles. "Strength of garrison?" she suddenly spoke.

"Bonner's a little paranoid," Johnson explained, "so he doesn't rely on the Furillo March Militia units—which are green and untested in battle. He uses mercenaries…I'd say company strength."

"Anybody I know?" Sheila asked.

"Doubtful; they don't operate on frontline worlds. Military Assistance Special Security."

"Their skill?" This from Senefa.

"I would equate them to a regular line infantry unit. They're not the equal of special forces and wouldn't do well against a unit like the Snowbirds or the Falcon Fusiliers, but they're more than adequate to handle terrorist attacks and freelance assassins."

"Hmm." Senefa looked over the maps for a moment longer, then pushed them away. "I would need to show the unit exactly how to move through a simulator. Failing that, I should be included in the mission itself."

Johnson scratched the back of his head, actually taken aback. According to the instructions hand-delivered by Mira Canis-Vlata—something her daughter-in-law Sheila was unaware of—Justin Allard had anticipated that convincing Senefa would require the inclusion of Sheila in the assault team. Now he had Senefa not only volunteering to go, but indirectly asking for command of the mission. "I, ah, suppose that could be arranged." He paused. "Senefa…I thought you would find this dishonorable."

"I do. Yet if the mission is to succeed, you will need me along."

"Me too," Sheila said.

Johnson put up his hands. "Now hold on, Commander." The original idea was to have Sheila included as an observer to the mission, to convince Senefa to go along—not the other way around. "There's no reason for you to go."

"Yes there is." Sheila let her artificial arm fall on the desk with a thump. "Exhibit A, sir. He did this to me, directly or indirectly. Exhibit B is the Liao agents he helped place tried to kill my friends. Mira Canis-Vlata told me what almost happened to Marion Rhialla and Maysa Bari. I can't pay back Romano Liao for that, but I can damn sure get Bonner."

"You're too personally involved," Johnson told her. "This isn't for revenge, Sheila. This is for justice."

"Sometimes there is no difference. I assume I am a volunteer, Director?" Senefa asked. At his hesitant nod, Senefa put a hand on Sheila's shoulder. "Either she goes or I do not."

Johnson looked to both of them, then gave a short, angry nod. "Very well. You can go along, Sheila, but I can tell you right now: you'll wish you hadn't."


	6. Veiled Intentions

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: I always seem to be apologizing for being late, but this time I really mean it. Part of the reason was that I was at a teacher's conference for the weekend (though that worked to my advantage; I got some ideas) and the other reason was writer's block. I wrote the first half of this chapter and stopped dead, because I realized I had written the main character out of this part of the story. Since it's called _Snowbird's Revenge _instead of _Fun With Senefa Malthus, _I had to figure out a way to get Sheila back in the story. Hopefully, it works._

_A few Battletech canon notes: the "Black Foxes" are actually MI6, Davion intelligence's wetworks force, and is nicknamed the "Rabid Foxes." I was going to change it, but since they're not officially supposed to exist to the rest of the Battletech universe, I let it go—it stands to reason that Simon Johnson and Captain Nelson are giving Sheila and Senefa a bit of misinformation. _

_Snord's Irregulars get a mention in this chapter as being on Furillo, but that actually violates canon—the Irregulars left on the Camelot Command raid in July 3051. Since Rhonda Snord is somewhat central to this chapter, I'm just going to have to suck it up and take the canon hit._

_Also central to this chapter is the use of many Islamic terms and a brief "history" of Islam in the Inner Sphere. No disrespect is intended. The "history" is based on what's in the old House books (namely _House Kurita_). The reason I'm using the "Lyran Council for Islamic Affairs" is because I needed something that would completely disguise Sheila and get her into Bonner's presence without resorting to James Bond-style masks and makeup. A Carmelite nun's habit doesn't hide the face, so I had to resort to something a bit different. I've made up the Talibanesque sect on Dar-es-Salaam, but it stands to reason that very conservative Islamic sects would survive into the 31__st__ Century. Other terms used in this chapter are fatwas_ _(religious decrees given by imams), ulema (Islamic religious scholars and lawyers), fiqh (laws), and Ja'fari (predominantly Shi'a jurisprudence used in places like Iran and Afghanistan). Halal and haraam refer to substances permitted by or restricted from Muslims, the latter including things like pork products and alcohol._

_Sheila's cover name is based on Aysaan Hirsi Ali and Irshad Manji, Muslim feminist activists, neither of whom would be caught dead in a burqa._

_And given that the Lyran Commonwealth is made up largely of Irishmen (Donegal), Scotsmen (Skye and Tamar), and Germans (the Steiners), it stands to reason that the majority of Lyrans are Catholics or Presbyterians. It's mentioned in _Warrior: Riposte _that both Hanse Davion and Melissa Steiner are Catholic. (If anyone cares, Sheila Arla-Vlata and her writer are also Catholics.)_

_And your parents thought that you don't learn stuff from gaming…_

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: Kat: glad you liked it. I hoped the foreshadowing with Melissa Steiner's death wasn't too heavy handed. _

_Green Knight: I already answered your questions in my last e-mail, but you'll see I did work in an _UrbanMech _in here somehow. _

_SulliMike: if you want, I can integrate that character later on as well._

_4477: Da da da-da, da da da-da…(or maybe the James Bond theme…dun dun dun dun, dun dun dun!)_

_SNOWBIRDS: THE MOVIE: Okay, since people have been talking about a casting call…_

_Sheila Arla-Vlata—Famke Janssen_

_Senefa Malthus—Carrie Ann-Moss_

_Max Canis-Vlata—James Spader_

_Maysa Bari—Alyson Hannigan (though she'd look weird with a shaved head)_

_Marion Rhialla—Valerie Bertinelli_

_Calla Bighorn-Vlata—Robert de Niro _

_Vornzel—Michael Clarke Duncan _

_Tooriu Kku—whoever the guy was who played "the Swede" in _Heartbreak Ridge

_Felisanna—Pink (because Bien likes Pink…geez)_

_Cavell Malthus—Al Pacino (because having de Niro and Pacino go at it in any movie is good!)_

_As for the various Successor Lords, I have no idea. I always pictured Robert Mitchum as Hanse Davion and Toshiro Mifune as Takashi Kurita, but both actors are long dead. Maybe Christopher Plummer and Ken Watanabe. Sean Connery IS Ulric Kerensky. Madonna might actually make a decent Melissa Steiner. If Michelle Yeoh could do psycho, she would be a good Romano Liao. And somewhere we have to have William Shatner…_

_Oh, and Duke Samuel Bonner's appearance is based on that of Penn Jillette of Penn and Teller. _

_And on with the fanfic (oh yeah, that's right, there's one in here somewhere)…

* * *

_

_Fort Snow Fire Training Grounds_

_Tharkad, Donegal March, Federated Commonwealth_

_12 August 3051_

"Go." At the commander's order, the Black Fox team, dressed entirely in black, rushed into the room. In it were fifteen mannequins. Four held submachineguns and were also dressed in black, while the others were dressed in civilian clothes. At the appearance of the Black Foxes, the four armed mannequins were turned and began firing, but they were quickly cut down.

"You use live ammunition, Captain Nelson?" Sheila asked.

"Have to. Keeps the team used to being shot at," Nelson answered.

"Don't you lose people that way?"

"Occasionally…but it's better to lose them in training than in the real thing, where the loss of one person could mean the loss of the entire team." He nodded towards the room. "Watch."

The Black Foxes were moving one mannequin that was bandaged and splattered with fake blood, to simulate a casualty, while the others were searched. Without warning, one of the "civilians" sprang up and raised a pistol. Even accounting for the jerkiness of the android's movement, it was a quick draw—but the pistol had barely cleared when a line of bullets stitched it from head to the middle of the back. One of the Foxes had held back at the doorway, gun ready, waiting for such an event. Nelson reached forward and hit the intercom switch. "45 seconds, team. Good work. You can break now." Even with that, the team went through the motion of loading the "casualty" onto a stretcher and carrying it out. Nelson turned to Sheila and Senefa. "What do you think?"

Sheila whistled. That had been the final room of a mansion supposedly filled with terrorists holding hostages. The Foxes had cleared it in only seven minutes, with 18 terrorists dead and one civilian wounded. "I'm impressed. Senefa?"

"As am I. Your men and women are to be commended, Captain Nelson."

"Coming from you, that's a compliment." Sheila fought down a bit of resentment at that: Nelson was obviously trying to impress Senefa more than Sheila, because while Senefa was a Clan warrior, Sheila was _just_ a MechWarrior. Nelson also obviously didn't have much time for MechWarriors, though he was by no means unusual in that regard; the two branches of service had despised each other since the days of the first BattleMechs. "Now," Nelson said, "how would Clan forces have done that operation, Star Colonel?"

"Captain, please address me as 'Senefa' or 'MechWarrior.' I currently do not hold that rank." Senefa looked to the room, now empty of everything save mannequins. "In much the same fashion as your team did," she answered him. "Though not as willing to spare civilians. In Clan society, non-warriors are seen as expendable. Their deaths would be seen merely as collateral damage."

"Unfortunately, we can't operate under those rules of engagement, Star—ah, MechWarrior. What about weapons and tactics?"

"Tactics would be almost identical, though we would of course probably use Elementals, which your team will not have. Weapons…" Senefa shrugged. This really would be more Vornzel's baliwick, but Director Johnson had expressly forbidden anyone else to be included in the operation. He was angry enough that he had to bring Sheila in. "Your Ryonex submachineguns should be adequate. You will not need anything larger. The Clans use generally the same fashion of weapons."

"I see." Sheila could see that Nelson was beginning to wonder why either woman was even there. He was an older man, which had surprised Sheila, with a pencil-thin mustache and almost an air of nobility—not arrogance, just a sense that he believed he really was better than everyone else. In anyone else, it would've been misplaced, but Sheila had no desire to try him on. In fact, in his line of work, he probably had to believe he was better than anyone else just to survive.

Sheila came to her friend's aid. "Captain, where Senefa can help you isn't so much in tactics. Obviously yours are superb. Where she can help is in how your team carries itself—speech patterns, for instance, and tactical signals. The Clans have a completely different battle language than we do. Right, Senefa?"

"Aff."

"I see," Nelson repeated. The door opened, and a heavyset man walked in—though he was all muscle, not fat. "Sergeant Treacy will show you downstairs, Senefa; you'll need to start work with the team."

"Of course, sir. I am at your disposal." She gave a small bow to Nelson and followed the Sergeant out the door. Before Sheila could follow, Nelson raised a hand. "Just a moment, Commander."

"What is it, Captain?" Sheila had a feeling she knew what it was.

Nelson leaned against the console. "Commander, I suppose I can be honest with you: you shouldn't be here. MechWarrior Senefa is one thing, but you're different. Our job is to masquerade as a Clan hit team, and to be honest, I don't see where you fit in at all." He held up his hands again, this time to forestall her protest. "Yes, I know that you've had experience in dismounted operations. I read your file. You have a very nice commendation in there from a Mikkansia Jackson, a high-ranking member of your unit's light infantry. I've heard of the Sentinels Light Infantry, and I agree that they are very good, and I'm sure that commendation is merited. But next to my team, they're small potatoes.

"Commander, the Black Foxes are a very secret unit. We're not officially admitted to exist. People have died to keep that secret. In fact, one of the reasons we're being used on this op is because Prince Davion and Directors Johnson and Allard believe that Lohengrin couldn't be trusted to kill a Steiner nobleman, traitor or not. I didn't want you in on this at all, but I had no choice."

Sheila closed her mouth, her counter-argument dying on her lips. Nelson was probably right. She _was_ just a MechWarrior; she should be back in her 'Mech, or at least learning how to pilot one again. She was making excellent progress with her arm and could control it in normal life without too much trouble, but she had yet to test it in a 'Mech yet, though her sparring sessions with Senefa were showing promise. In any case, the sort of dirty work that the Black Foxes excelled in was not her stock-in-trade, and moreover, she was beginning to sense she was in over her head. She wanted revenge on Bonner, craved it, found herself dreaming about how wonderful it was going to be to confront him. The woman left for dead, coming back and exacting vengeance like the Greek heroine Electra. More and more, however, Sheila wondered if she was living a fantasy. Watching Nelson's team at their work only emphasized how much she was out of her depth.

She looked away. "You're right, Captain. Maybe you could have one of your men escort me out," she said quietly. "Director Johnson has already briefed me on the Official Secrets Act, so I know what will happen to me if I run my mouth…you don't have to worry about that."

Nelson nodded, surprised at how quickly she gave up. "Thank you, Commander. I know it's not easy to admit you're wrong. We'll return Senefa to you in a few days." He hesitated. "Can she be trusted?"

"She gave up everything she had to take a stand," Sheila told him, a tad harshly. "You can trust her implicitly."

"Glad to hear it." As it was, Sheila was worried if Johnson wasn't going to arrange one of his accidents for them. The two of them had seen a lot, even if Nelson was the only one of the Foxes whose face either had seen; even the sergeant that had come to collect Senefa had still been wearing a balaclava that left only his eyes exposed. "I'll escort you out myself." From the look in his face, Sheila had a feeling that Nelson was doing that less out of chivalry and more from suspicion that Sheila wasn't telling the truth.

They had just reached the door when the sergeant that had come to collect Senefa returned. He held a message flimsy. "Sir, this just arrived for you. Comm just finished decoding it."

Nelson looked over the one page message. "Damn," he said quietly. "That's not good."

"Can I ask what it is?" Sheila didn't really expect an answer, but to her surprise, Nelson gave her one after a brief hesitation.

"I suppose. Given your reputation for unorthodox tactics, maybe you can help us out of this." Nelson tapped the paper. "We had a date selected for the operation. Unfortunately, the night we had in mind, Bonner is hosting a dinner for the Lyran Council for Islamic Affairs. We can't be shooting up the place with guests there, and we certainly can't eliminate 30 to 40 people like we can the guards. Not without massive political fallout."

"So reschedule the op."

"We can't. We have to set up a command circuit to get there as it is, and shipping's at a premium. We keep a circuit up too long and people start asking questions. We also are planning on using helicopter insertion/extraction, and we want a no-moon night for that. Furillo has three moons, and the date we have planned is the only one for three months in which none of the moons are visible." Nelson sighed. "We could still do it, but it increases the chances of us being found out."

"Actually, I think it's going to increase the chances of you pulling this off without a problem." Sheila pointed to the now-empty training room. "Obviously your team is used to shooting around hostages."

"Sure, but I don't understand what you're getting at."

Sheila wore a predatory smile. "What it sounds like is that you need someone on the inside. Someone who doesn't need to be briefed about the operation, and doesn't increase the chances of a leak. Someone like…well…me."

* * *

_Government House_

_Furillo, Tamarind March, Federated Commonwealth_

_20 August 3051_

The Military Assistance Special Security guard held up the ID card to his reader, then compared it to the guest list. "I'm sorry, you're not on the list, Miss…Manji?"

"_Mrs._ Manji," the woman insisted. The guard looked up—the woman was taller than him—and looked back to the ID card. That was no help. Both the card and the woman before him showed someone draped in and completely covered by a light blue _burqa._ "I am on the list. Here is my authorization." A hand, covered in a glove, appeared from the burqa, handed the guard a folded piece of paper, then just as quickly disappeared. The guard unfolded it, and read it. With a suppressed sigh, he motioned over his superior, a Captain Jones, who also read it. Another glance at the list, and then both men shrugged. "It's signed by Minister ibn Fadlan, and it's verigraphed. Another schedule screwup," said the officer. "Let her in."

"You can go in, Mrs. Manji. Sorry about the trouble." The guard handed back the paper and ID card.

"Thank you," the woman replied. Once she was out of earshot, she breathed a sigh of relief. The ID card read Aysaan Manji, wife of Ahmed Manji, resident of Dar-es-Salaam, a planet not far from Solaris VII and the Marik frontier. The woman inside the burqa, however, was Sheila Arla-Vlata.

Where Captain Nelson had seen trouble, Sheila had seen opportunity, not just for herself, but for the Black Foxes as well. Having someone on the inside would increase the chances of the operation succeeding. The problem was getting someone on the inside without compromising security. Since Sheila already knew the broad strokes of the operation to kill Duke Bonner, she was the perfect choice—though Sheila was the only person who truly thought so. Still, even Nelson had complimented her on her choice of disguise.

None of the Successor Houses claimed Islam as their religion of choice: Marik, Steiner and Davion were Christian, Liao was Taoist, and Kurita was Shinto-Buddhist. Though Islamic sects existed and flourished throughout the Inner Sphere, they were a distinct minority; this was largely due to Muslims being among the last to leave Terra, as the mere concept of settling on other planets had sparked huge debates within the religion, not least of which was how one was supposed to face Mecca or make the _hajj_ pilgrimage if Mecca was several hundred light years away, coreward or spinward. By the time those religious questions were resolved, the majority of the Inner Sphere had been settled or claimed. Nonetheless, the Islamic diaspora had taken root on planets such as Algedi in the Draconis Combine, Dar-es-Salaam in Steiner space, Islamabad in the Federated Suns, and Tukayyid in the Free Rasalhague Republic. While most of these worlds were considered more or less cosmopolitan, certain radical sects still existed. Though few engaged in the militant radicalism that had started most of the wars of the 21st Century—those that did didn't last long against BattleMechs—there were some who still rigidly adhered to the absolute law of the Koran, or their interpretation of it. One such sect was based on Dar-es-Salaam. There, women were required to dress in the Afghani _chadri_ version of the burqa which completely covered everything, leaving only a mesh for the woman to see through; even the hands were covered in silk gloves. Only recently had the sect begun to loosen some of its restrictions, letting their women travel offworld. Even so, it was exceedingly rare for one of these women to be seen in public without a male escort, and the Lyran Council for Islamic Affairs had been pleasantly surprised to hear that such an unaccompanied woman would be attending their annual three-day meeting on Furillo. However, so would have the Dar-es-Salaam sect, which had never sent anyone to the LCIA meeting and never intended to.

Because the burqa covered everything with shapeless fabric, Sheila would not only remain completely anonymous, she could also wear a radio headset. She had joked that she could have even concealed a SRM launcher beneath the robe, but Nelson, unsmilingly, had said a pistol would be all that she would be allowed to take, and even that was a small nine-millimeter inside a scan-resistant holster nestled underneath her left arm. They were hoping that Bonner would not be so rude as to subject his guests to searches or scans; while few Muslims were quite as rigid as the Dar-es-Salaam sect, even fewer were going to allow females to be searched by non-Muslim male guards without an extremely good reason. Furillo was one of the most stable planets in the Inner Sphere: there hadn't been a Marik raid in over a generation, despite the presence of a Defiance Industries plant onworld, there was little criminal element, and Bonner himself, while not exactly popular with the majority of Furilloians, was not so unpopular to have to worry about an assassination—not locally, in any case. If Nelson was wrong, the scan-resistant holster would do Sheila no good; her artificial arm would set off a scanning device. To Sheila's relief, there was no sign of a scanner, though the guards were armed with assault rifles in plain view.

"Turkina to Urbie. Sitrep." Nelson's voice crackled in her earpiece. Just in case, Nelson had selected as his callsign the name of the legendary jade falcon that had given the Clan its name. Senefa had been none too pleased at that, especially since Sheila had suggested it, but had gotten a measure of revenge by suggesting Sheila's codename. Under the burqa, Senefa had said, Sheila looked like a tall _UrbanMech,_ the rotund, squat, and often-derided city defense 'Mech.

"I am inside," Sheila whispered, having to remember not to use contractions. Like the codewords, it was just in case someone should detect their transmissions. "There are two guards at the entrance, checking IDs…and four more as a ceremonial group just inside the front door. I am moving towards the reception."

"How many in the line outside?"

"I was the last one."

"Good. ETA 30 minutes. Acknowledge?"

"Aff. Three-zero minutes." As Nelson signed off, Sheila suppressed a curse, then berated herself: _you wanted to be in on this damn thing, Sheila, and now you're in it up to your ears._ In any case, it meant that Sheila Arla-Vlata had to be Aysaan Manji for the next half hour. _This wasn't covered in the Nagelring, that's for sure._ Luckily, most people seemed to be ignoring her. The chadri was not popular in the generally progressive LCIA. She still had to get into the receiving line, which would bring her face to face with Duke Samuel Bonner.

As she waited and saw Bonner, Sheila abruptly realized that, despite the fact that she hated the man enough to want him dead, she had never actually met him. She was mildly surprised to see that he was a big man, taller than her and twice as broad, though not much looked to be fat. He had an immaculately clipped goatee, and while he wasn't handsome, he wasn't terrible to look at, either. He was wearing an impeccable suit with a military cut, though Bonner had never seen combat that she knew of, with a blue silk cummerbund and a large pin on his lapel—a Lyran fist, she noticed, not the fist-and-sunburst of the Federated Commonwealth. Though Sheila had seen Bonner in holovids, she had formed a mental picture of some malignant gnome, a Grendel or a Wyrmtongue. The fact that this man, jovially shaking hands with a woman who looked strangely familiar, would be dead before dawn bothered her for some reason.

Then it was her turn to be introduced. Bonner respectfully did not offer his hand, but merely gave her a slight, respectful bow. "Mrs. Manji. I was quite surprised to hear that your sect had decided to send a representative this year."

"It was a last minute decision," Sheila informed him, carefully selecting each word. Though she was no actor, Sheila felt that she had better use something slightly different from her own voice. She had settled on imitating her mother, who still retained her Capra accent. It would, she hoped, sound just different enough that Bonner would assume she was not a native speaker of English, which the inhabitants of Dar-es-Salaam were not. "We felt that more traditional aspects of Islam should be represented."

"You are more than welcome," Bonner rumbled warmly. "I look forward to the debates we shall have over the course of the conference."

"As do I, Duke Bonner." Sheila did something no Dar-es-Salaam woman would ever do: she looked Bonner directly in the eye. On closer inspection and firsthand exposure, Sheila found she had no problem hating him. This was the man who had betrayed her to the Clans and aided and abetted an attempt to murder her friends and comrades. While his features were crinkled in an oily grin, his eyes held nothing but contempt. As she turned away, Sheila felt her artificial arm involuntarily twitch, as if it wanted to independently shoot from her elbow and strangle him.

Sheila made her way to the buffet line, gratified to see that everything on the menu was strictly _halal_; at least she wouldn't have to worry about eating something that her persona wouldn't touch. Avoiding a faux pas was going to be difficult enough: Sheila had done some hurried reading on the DropShip from Tharkad, and prayed that would be enough.

"Excuse me." There was a voice at her side, and Sheila slowly turned to find herself face to face with Colonel Rhonda Snord, the woman she had seen in the receiving line. It took every ounce of self-control Sheila possessed not to drop the plate or stumble backwards. Instead, she bowed slightly, much as Bonner had. "Colonel Snord. I have heard of you. It is a pleasure."

"Same here." Rhonda Snord's smile was pleasant and genuine. Seeing her in her unit's more-or-less formal uniform was a shock; most of the battlefield holos Sheila had seen of the famous—some would say infamous—heir to Cranston Snord's Irregulars usually had her wearing tight pants, an Elvis T-shirt, and not much else. In her own way, Rhonda was every bit as flamboyant as Natasha Kerensky had been. She was older now, the same age as Sheila's father, but no less skilled as a warrior. "We've never been down Dar-es-Salaam way."

"I had not thought you were, ah…"

"Muslim?" Snord laughed. "I'm not. Just visiting. I was coming through Furillo on the way to Tharkad from Outreach. Duke Bonner invited me here tonight."

Sheila's heart sank. It was an open secret among mercenaries that Snord's Irregulars and Wolf's Dragoons were known to be close. Snord certainly would've been on the short list of people that Jaime Wolf would reveal all about the Clans to. Sheila knew that the Foxes' Jade Falcon disguises would not hold up to close scrutiny; they had assumed that no one on Furillo knew more about the Clans than the frequently panicky and erroneous reports delivered by the media. Snord was a different story entirely. "So, ah, you are on the way to fight the Clans?"

"We're heading out that way, yeah. Finally getting in on the fight. I can't wait." Snord motioned towards the buffet, obviously not wanting to interrupt Sheila. Hoping her hands wouldn't tremble, the latter began filling her plate.

"Are the Clans as truly bad as they say?" Sheila asked, trying to stay on familiar ground.

"They're worse, from what I hear." Snord winked. "No problem, Mrs. Manji. We'll stop them long before they get to Dar-es-Salaam."

"That is a relief. I understand they have women warriors among them!" Sheila let a note of incredulity creep into her voice. In the sect, women were prohibited from even owning a knife, let alone anything more sophisticated; they had an exemption from the AFFC draft. "No offense to you, Colonel."

"None taken. It's not for everybody." Snord picked up a plate and also began selecting foods. "Your men are great fighters, though."

"Most certainly." Many men from Dar-es-Salaam had enlisted in first the LCAF and then the AFFC throughout the history of the Succession Wars; it was considered quite honorable to do so, even if they had to make certain adjustments to taking orders from overwhelmingly Catholic or Presbyterian commanders. "They are indeed brave fighters. My own husband is on the Clan front, with the 17th Skye Rangers."

Snord's eyebrow rose. "Which explains why you're not escorted."

"Yes. In these times, we must adjust to the situation."

"Didn't one of your imams issue a fatwa against the Clans?"

_Oh shit,_ Sheila thought. This had been her own personal nightmare: she would run into someone at the LCIA conference that would know a lot more about Islam than she did, which was pretty much everyone. It had been planned that she would not have to maintain the fiction of Aysaan Manji long, and anyone who pressed too close she could simply ignore. Men were not likely to speak to her directly, and the majority of the LCIA delegates were male. No one had anticipated a curious Rhonda Snord. _Fifty-fifty chance!_ "Yes," Sheila answered.

"Good for him." Sheila coughed to cover a sigh of relief. "I was kinda curious what the _ulema_ would think about the Clans. _Ja'fari fiqh_ doesn't exactly cover a situation like this, does it?"

_I am so screwed._ Sheila had no idea what Snord was talking about. "No, it does not," she replied. "What will you be doing against the Clans?" She desperately tried to get the conversation back to something she did know, even though it was a lame question.

"Fighting, of course. Can't say more. Opsec."

"Ah, you do not trust me." They walked to the table, Sheila hoping that Snord would go away or a chandelier would fall on her.

"No, no," Snord laughed. "I guess I can tell you this much. We're raiding. You know, scary stuff like Hislas and things like that."

Sheila nodded. A "hisla" was a HSLA, MechWarrior shorthand for High Speed Low Altitude, which basically consisted of jumping your 'Mech out of a low-flying aerodyne DropShip at altitudes of less than fifty meters, and praying your jumpjets slowed you down long enough to prevent making a long, burning wreck against the drop zone. It was highly dangerous and only the best MechWarriors even dared try it. She set her plate down and turned to Snord. "Will you excuse me a moment, Colonel? I must use the washroom."

"Sure, no problem. I'll watch your food."

"Thank you." She turned and walked briskly towards the door. Though she wore a most-nontraditional black jumpsuit underneath the burqa, her feet were clad in sandals. She tried desperately not to get them tangled up in the unfamiliar robe. Hoping she was going in the right direction, she walked down a deserted hallway. "Turkina, Urbie, come in."

"Turkina here," Nelson replied after a pause. "I was about to call for a sitrep."

"Situation is not good," Sheila said, trying to not sound panicky, which was what she felt. She really was in over her head.

"More guards than we anticipated?"

"No—neg." She glanced behind her. "The guards outside have returned inside; there are now six at the front door. There's also four in the dining room, light weapons only, Bonner's personal bodyguard. That is not the problem. Rhonda Snord is here."

There was a long pause on the other end. "Confirm Rhonda Snord, CO of the Irregulars?" Nelson asked.

"Confirm."

There was yet another pause, and Sheila knew what Nelson was thinking. Though there was no intention to murder the NCIA attendees, it was also anticipated that they wouldn't fight. Snord might, and that was besides the fact that she just might see through the Jade Falcon disguise. "Abort?" Sheila wondered.

"Negative. Mission continues. ETA, five minutes. Stay in contact. Out."

"Understood," Sheila sighed. She hoped Nelson wasn't considering killing Snord, though Simon Johnson might consider such losses regrettably acceptable.

Suddenly, there was movement behind her. Sheila saw guards, and quickly ducked into an open door and around a corner. It was another hallway, dimly lit; it was no problem fading into the shadows. Outside the door, Bonner and his guards walked past. Sheila recognized Leftenant General Thomas Hogarth, the commander of the Furillo March Militia, the local 'Mech garrison. Hogarth had been included in the mission brief; apparently Hanse Davion and Melissa Steiner-Davion had no problem if Hogarth was killed in the attack, and in fact regarded it as a pleasant bonus if he was. Hogarth was a staunch Free Skye advocate, and devoted to Bonner, to the point that his unit's loyalty was rated as questionable at best. "What idiot included Timbiqui Dark beer on the menu?" Bonner was snarling. "Don't they know that alcohol is _haraam_ to these people?"

"Apparently the caterers assumed that since it was from Timbiqui, it was okay," Hogarth replied, no less angry. "Maybe they thought it was non-alcoholic."

"Damned fools. Tom, I forgot my notes for the ridiculous dinner speech I have to give, so I need to run upstairs to my office. Think you can hold the fort here?"

"Do my best, Your Grace." Hogarth said something more, but they had passed out of earshot. Sheila considered following them for a moment, but nearly jumped out of the burqa when she heard bootfalls behind her on the tiled floor. She whirled around and saw it was a MASS guardsman, who went pale and automatically brought up his Federated assault rifle. "Fuckin' shit!" he exclaimed, then realized who she was. He hesitated, lowered the rifle, and scratched the back of his head. "Oh, uh, terribly sorry, ma'am! Didn't see you at first—thought you were a ghost or something, heh." He gave a weak laugh, knowing he had messed up and trying to cover it with humor. Sheila found herself smiling behind the veil. The guard was young, with bright red hair; she found herself reminded of Maysa Bari, who probably would have fled screaming.

"That is quite all right, young man," Sheila said, laughing inwardly, since she was probably only two years older than he was.

"This is a restricted area, ma'am. Guests aren't supposed to leave the ballroom area."

"I was looking for the washroom."

"Oh!" The guard walked to her. "I'll show you where that is." He went to take her arm, realized he was making another cultural faux pas, and instead turned it into reslinging his rifle. "Uh, follow me." He began to go back the way Sheila had come, towards the ballroom, and Sheila suddenly had an idea.

"Excuse me," she said. He stopped, and Sheila nodded towards where the bathrooms probably were. "I was informed by Captain Jones that the women's washroom was out of service."

"Again? Son of a bit—uh, I mean, he did, did he?"

"Yes," Sheila told him, trying not to laugh out loud now. "He said there was one upstairs that I could use. I understand that it is restricted—" Sheila was guessing at that "—but it is something of an emergency." She shifted her feet, as if trying to control a full bladder.

"Well…it is restricted, but I'm sure the Duke himself wouldn't say no. Follow me." He led her upstairs, where they were stopped by two guards. Her guard explained what had happened, Sheila added her own story, and the others let them pass. As they walked towards the bathroom, the redhead kept up a running commentary on the problems with the mansion, which was obviously a cover for his nervousness and fear of offending this strange woman in equally bizarre dress. Sheila decided she would lure him into the washroom and somehow knock him out or lock him up, to keep him from getting shot by the Foxes. She knew that was a mistake: one of the rules drilled into her head at the Nagelring was not to overhumanize the enemy to the point that it rendered one incapable of fighting. _Shoot the 'Mech, not the man,_ she had been told, even as both instructor and student knew full well that the easiest way to kill a 'Mech was to put a shot directly into the cockpit. Still, she wanted to save this one, at least.

He was showing her the bathroom when the lights abruptly cut out. The attack had begun.


	7. Snowbird's Revenge

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, here's the big assault scene. Hopefully this'll be the last dismounted black ops scene I'm going to write (maybe; I do have an idea for something later on). From now on, I'm sticking to 'Mech fights. _

_I drew a lot of inspiration (i.e. robbed unashamedly) from several movies and books for this chapter. The one that sticks out the most is the house assault from _Who Dares Wins (_aka_ The Final Option_), a pretty decent fictionalization of the Special Air Service's assault on the Iranian Embassy in London in 1980. (You can find it on YouTube.) However, I also was inspired (stole from) by the last confrontation between Colonel Faulkner and Sir Matheson at the end of _The Wild Geese, _and the confrontation between Peter Miller and Eduard Roschmann in the book of _The Odessa File. _I hope no one minds too much. Originally this was going to be longer, but when I hit six pages, I decided to leave it at that. There's one more thing that's going to happen, but I'll leave that for the next chapter, which will be angsty and emo, but necessary. _

_Rhonda Snord's addition was fun. Originally she was in there as a cameo, but then I realized that she could actually help, if she found out who the assaulters really were. One thing she doesn't reveal to Sheila is her true origins: Rhonda, her father Cranston, and the original Irregulars were, like Wolf's Dragoons, Clanfolk. They split off from the Dragoons on their own scouting mission, and joined Jaime Wolf in repudiating their Clan ties to fight for the Inner Sphere. Naturally, Rhonda alone would figure out pretty quickly that the Black Foxes were not Clan._

_I also go against canon slightly with the death of Thomas Hogarth, who, according to _Objective Raids, _is alive and well in 3055. Must be a typo. (Those sneaky MIIO types…)_

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: 4477 Thire: thanks for the heads-up. You'll notice I changed the spelling in this chapter._

_Kat: Well, Sean Connery did wear a hairpiece in a lot of his movies. (Marko Ramius, for example.) I read the bidding war between Ulric and Anastasius Focht aloud one time, trying to imitate Sean Connery and Jurgen Prochnow. Geez…I need a life or something. (Oh, and I guess I could write "Fun With Senefa and Vornzel," but I already have and it made people ill.)_

_On with da show… _

_Government House_

_Furillo, Tamarind March, Federated Commonwealth_

_20 August 3051_

Duke Samuel Bonner looked up. The lights flickered and came back on again. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

Leftenant General Thomas Hogarth looked up as well, then shrugged. "Power failure."

"If so, it's the shortest one in this planet's history." Furillo's power source was drawn from Star League-era cold fusion reactors. While the reactors worked perfectly even after 400 years, the connections were old and worn out, and no one yet knew how to fix them. The great treasure trove of lost technology that had been rediscovered had been quickly applied to military use, and the civilian sector needed time to catch up. For Bonner, it was one more act of percieved neglect that made him despise House Davion all the more. "Tighten security around the guests. Something's not right here."

Sheila dragged the unconcious guard into one of the stalls. He had never seen it coming: she had merely raised her artificial arm, formed a fist, and let it drop like a guillotine on the top of the man's skull. He had slumped instantly to the floor. With much grunting and muffled cursing at the bulky burqa, she lifted him onto the toilet, undid his belt, and tied his hands behind him. Sheila considered taking the Federated assault rifle with her, but it was too bulky. Since the Black Foxes would be using Rorynex submachineguns, firing the Federated would make her an instant target. Half-remembering a Nagelring class on personal weapons, she quickly disassembled the rifle, took out the trigger housing, and tossed it into one of the other toilets. She heard the guard's radio crackled and grabbed that on her way out, hearing the order to increase security in the ballroom. The hallway was deserted, so she quickly whispered into her headset. "Turkina from Urbie. They are doubling the guards in the ballroom. Be advised."

"Roger that. Over target."

* * *

Senefa Malthus was finding herself rapidly changing her opinion about Inner Sphere warriors. 

While she had shared the traditional disdain for the "mud marchers," "gravel agitators," and "scarecrows" of the infantry that most MechWarriors had, Inner Sphere and Clan, she wondered why Hanse Davion had never committed his Black Foxes to the war effort against the Clans. They were eminently professional, eminently skilled, and undeniably lethal. Affection for Vornzel aside, she had no doubts that the Foxes could easily penetrate and kill the entire Jade Falcon Keshik before an alarm could be sounded.

Senefa had given them an intense three day briefing on the way out from Tharkad on what she knew about Clan tactics and traditions. The entire team consisted of only twelve men, commanded by Captain Nelson and three Sergeants, Tracey, Barker, and Jacobs. Besides Nelson and once with Tracey, she never saw any of the other men's faces. They had interrogated far more thoroughly than the MIIO agents who had debriefed her on Vantaa: one of the men even had her repeat passages from the Clans' epic poem, _The Remembrance_, until he could repeat them back to her. Their uniforms had been subtly altered to include Jade Falcon ranks and the "claws" carried on the field uniform's shoulders, though these were dark green rather than bright yellow. Two of them had even fashioned Clan-style "daggerstars" and pinned them to their tunics, and by the time they reached Furillo, Senefa felt herself slipping back into old speech patterns and colloquialisms of the Clans. It felt very much like she was preparing with for a combat drop with her old Cluster. Only the masked faces brought her back to reality.

It was good to be working with such men, but the mission still unsettled Senefa. She despised political backstabbing and abhorred assassination. It happened in the Clans with more frequency than she cared to admit, but while she had revised her opinion of Inner Sphere warriors, she had decided that the Clans had a point regarding the degradation of the Inner Sphere since the fall of the Star League. If this was as depressingly common as Sheila had told her and Senefa had read in her books, it was a wonder they had survived at all. And Senefa especially did not like Sheila going on the operation. Vengeance she understood, but revenge she no longer could: she had experienced firsthand what it could drive a person to do. That said, Senefa had to compliment Sheila on her unique choice of disguise, and from her radio reports, it seemed she was handling herself well enough.

They approached Government House in four helicopters, each with three men inside. Each team had arrived on Furillo separately, in various disguises—Senefa had disgustedly acquiesced to bleaching her hair blonde, wearing blue eye contracts that hurt, and dressing in outlandish tie-dyed garb that she normally wouldn't be caught dead in-- and had met in a deserted clearing in the middle of a game preserve. Senefa had been surprised to find that the helicopters they were using were Nightshades: Star League era VTOLs in mint condition. The Nightshade had been designed as a combat scout, built to be stealthy and with such a comphrensive ECM suite that rendered it virtually invisible to detection. The Foxes' Nightshades had been modified to include a cramped passenger compartment, which left her as close to Captain Nelson as she had been to Vornzel in bed. 

Senefa leaned forward as much as she could to look over the pilot's shoulder. Government House was lit up, showing that there were no guards on the roof. That would make things easier. There were a great deal of trees and hedgerows around the house, which she regarded as poor planning: if she was a planetary governor, she would have wanted a clear field of fire for at least half a kilometer. Then again, Furillo wasn't high on the list of military targets. Nor were there any guard 'Mechs on the grounds, which they had planned for but still feared: as much as MechWarriors made fun of the diminutive _UrbanMech_, just one of the little 'Mechs could end the entire operation. 

She felt Nelson's hand on her shoulder, and sat back down. He held up three fingers, and she nodded. All of them were dressed in black from head to toe, except for a cutout around the eyes. Each carried three concussion grenades, "flashbangs" that would produce a stunning effect but very little shrapnel or blast; a 20 foot length of black nylon rope, two throwing knives in boot sheaths, and a single Rorynex, slightly modified to resemble one of Clan manufacture. Only two spare magazines were carried, in sheaths taped to the wrist for quick reloading; as Nelson had said, the last thing the Foxes needed was a prolonged firefight. The Rorynexes also had flash suppressors that doubled as silencers. Normally, Nelson had told Senefa, the Foxes would carry backup personal weapons, but they had discarded those because they were too recognizable: it wouldn't make sense for a Clan assault team to be loaded up with various knives of local manufacture or the odd Sternsnacht heavy pistol. For that reason, Senefa had been ordered to leave her collapsible staff behind on Tharkad.

The doors opened on either side of the Nightshade, and ropes were thrown out, to play out over the stubby wings of the helicopter. Whipped by the downwash of the rotors, which were eerily silent, Senefa ducked out, turning around and keeping one hand on the thick rope, kneeling on the wing to avoid being decapitated by the blades. At a signal from Nelson, both slid down the wings and the ropes to the roof of the mansion, landing with hardly a sound. Quickly, they moved away from the landing area as the third man in the team slid down as well. Once they were in position, Nelson waved a red-lensed flashlight at the pilot, who pulled up and away, to orbit five thousand feet up and east of the mansion. He then signaled Senefa and the other Fox to move forward. They crabwalked to the front of the mansion. There was no activity outside. The second and third Nightshade quickly moved into position and deposited their three-man teams as well.

"Shade Two to Turkina. Two guards, second south window." One of the Nightshades had seen someone open the curtains.

"They see you?"

"Unknown."

"Freebirth." Senefa looked over at him, and she could see him smile beneath the mask. Nelson had used the Clan epithet unconciously. She clicked the safety off the Rorynex, wishing she had her _Summoner_ beneath her. If the Nightshade had been seen—it couldn't jam the human eye—then they would be attacking an alerted target.

"Shade Four. Make your approach now," Nelson ordered. 

* * *

"Your Grace?"

Bonner was adjusting his tunic, looking in the mirror. "What is it?" He turned to Jones, the captain of the mansion's guards. 

"Sir, one of my men thinks he saw a helicopter passing over the house."

"He thinks?"

Jones looked penitent. "He wasn't sure, sir."

"Tell him to find out. Stupid media." Jones saluted and left. Bonner flung down his tie. "Dammit, this isn't working for me. I'll just have to go without one. Tom, go downstairs and stall our guests." Hogarth smiled thinly and left the room, nearly colliding with the head butler of the mansion. "Now what?" Bonner snapped.  
"Sorry to bother you, sir, but the beer that you ordered…"

"Yes, yes, I know the idiots already delivered Timbiqui Dark instead of non-alcoholic stuff. Did you call the distributor to have them switch it out?"

"I tried, sir, but the phone lines are out."

"What do you mean, they're out?"

The butler shrugged. "That's just it, sir. No dial tone. Nothing. It's like they were…cut."

Bonner opened his mouth, closed it, and turned pale. "Jesus." He rushed over to his desk and stabbed a button on the internal phone. "Captain Jones, come in!"

* * *

Shade Four came in at treetop height, with two men dangling under it. Senefa watched them come, even as she obeyed Nelson's hand signal to throw over her rope. Originally, Shade Four was to make their approach to the top windows after the first three teams had gone in, but Nelson feared the guards inside had already spotted Shade Two. 

The two Foxes dangling beneath the Nightshade raised grenade launchers to their shoulders, the heaviest weapons the team had with them. They made a chuffing noise as they fired, the forty millimeter grenade striking the upper floor windows and exploding, blowing them both out. The two guards inside dived behind a sofa for cover as the room was covered in flying glass, then hesitated as two men dressed in black leapt through the windows. It was a fatal hesitation: the Foxes' Rorynexes quietly split fire and killed both guards. "Two guards dead, upper south windows," Sergeant Jacobs reported. "Moving in on target."

"Teams, go," Nelson ordered. Senefa followed the others in rappelling down the south face of the mansion. She was part of Team One, with Nelson: they rappelled to the ground and went to the front door, while the other two teams only went to the balcony that commanded the southern half of the mansion. Nelson unslung the combat shotgun on his back and aimed, while Senefa took up a position to the side of the door and the third man, whose name she didn't know, crouched on the steps. At the signal—the other two teams blowing in the windows with plastic explosive—Nelson blew the hinges off the front doors. The third man rushed in and delivered a devastating shoulder block, and the doors flew open. As he rolled to his feet in the hallway, Senefa watched the doors to the ballroom. Sure enough, a guard stepped out, rifle half-raised in shock. She aimed, but the Fox on the floor was already firing. The guard went down in a welter of blood. Senefa and Nelson rushed in, even as they heard gunfire above them.

Sheila heard someone fire, the deep sound of a Federated rifle. It was cut off in mid burst, and through her headset she heard one of the teams report that a guard was dead. She moved in a fast walk towards the stairway, wanting to get downstairs; she had kicked off her sandals in the bathroom and was running in her bare feet. Luckily, the Foxes had been briefed not to shoot anyone wearing a blue burqa, but she had a feeling that the they were going to gun down everything on the second floor before moving in on Bonner.

"You there! Halt!" Sheila whirled around to see Captain Jones pointing a rifle at her. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I-I'm Aysaan Manji," Sheila stammered, remembering just in time her cover name. "I heard shots—"

"Get your ass up here!" Jones stepped forward, took a double-handful of the burqa, and half-flung Sheila back down the hallway towards Bonner's office. "Get back there and stay there! Someone's hitting us!" Forgetting Sheila, Jones motioned his men to take up positions around the heavy planters that had been arrayed around the hallway—not just for decoration, Sheila realized, as they were perfectly placed to defend Bonner's office. She gaped as two men ran in, dropped to the floor, and began setting up a light machinegun. She opened her mouth to whisper into the headset, warn Nelson, but then a uniformed sleeve took hold of her and began to drag her down the hallway. "Come with me," said Leftenant General Thomas Hogarth.

* * *

Nelson kicked the door shut to the ballroom, then kicked them open again, quickly twisting to the side to avoid the return fire. Senefa, crouched out of the way, wondered what Nelson was doing. In a moment, she heard screams and the soft thumps of the Rorynexes from the opposite end, and knew: Nelson had distracted the guards inside, causing them to focus their weapons on where they thought the attack was coming. Team Three had leapt down a flight of stairs and burst in from the other side. "Two guards dead. Ballroom secure." Nelson motioned them inside. The thirty delegates inside had either raised their hands or ducked under the tables. One of them, an older man, suddenly drew a wicked-looking knife from beneath his suit and charged Senefa. The Foxes hesitated, under orders not to harm the delegates. 

_Finally, something that makes sense,_ Senefa thought. Since the Rorynex hung from its sling around her right shoulder, she simply let go of it, half-turned, let the knife go past, grabbed the man's wrist with her left hand and the man's face with her right. The sudden strike lifted him off his feet and dropped him to the carpet; Senefa had to remember to let go of the knife arm and the face, so as not to snap the man's neck or dislocate his shoulder. She kicked the knife free. The man had hit the carpet rather hard and was out of the fight. She stepped away and raised the submachinegun. "Stand still and you will not be harmed!" she shouted, her voice muffled through the mask. "We are not here for you! We are here for Duke Bonner!"

"Why?" asked one of the delegates.

"He has dared to betray Clan Jade Falcon, and we kin death for him!" Senefa winced at the words, both because they sounded to her horribly corny, and because she had told Sheila the same thing during the Circle of Equals on Planting. She looked around. "Where is General Hogarth and Colonel Snord?" People shook their heads, so Senefa repeated it, in a shout. Still no one knew. 

"Point Commander, stay here." Nelson pointed at Sergeant Jacobs. He pointed at Senefa and thumbed behind them. Leaving Team Three to guard the ballroom, they headed into the hallway. From above, they could hear the muffled booms of flashbangs as the other two teams cleared the upper flooors, occasionally reporting "Guard dead," or "Two guards dead," as they systematically wiped out the MASS force. The plan was to collapse the perimeter around Bonner's office, which was on the second floor looking out over a north-facing balcony. The building plans had shown Bonner's windows to be reinforced to survive a direct hit from even rocket-propelled grenades, so a direct entry would've been impossible. "Third floor clear," Senefa heard Sergeant Tracey report. "Moving down."

As they approached the main stairwell, the Fox who had accompanied Senefa and Nelson raised a fist. They instantly dropped behind cover and stopped. "Guard on second floor stairwell balcony," he told them. "Stay down." A single strand of black nylon fell to the floor, followed almost immediately by gunfire, and then the figure of Sergeant Tracey landing nimbly on his feet. "Guard down, second floor balcony." Tracey had slid down the rope from the third floor and shot the guard on his way down.

"Third floor clear," Tracey reported to Nelson. "Still clearing second."

"Aff. Team Three, move the delegates out the front door. Keep a lookout for Colonel Snord—do not fire at her, repeat, do not engage Colonel Snord." Nelson turned back to Tracey. "Have you seen Urbie?"

"Neg."

"All right. Take command here; I will move up to second and help Team Two and Four, quiaff?"

"Aff." Tracey slapped Nelson's shoulder. Nelson motioned to Senefa, and they were moving up the stairs when they heard the unmistakable sound of a machine gun.

* * *

"Goddamn Snord," Hogarth hissed as he continued to drag Sheila down the corridor towards Bonner's office. "This is probably Marik SAFE agents come to kill us all for something her bunch stole!" Sheila had been digging in her heels, trying to wrestle free of Hogarth: somehow, she had to warn Nelson or take out the machine gun herself. "Will you quit that—" He tried to get better purchase, Sheila's bare feet slipped on the rug, and half the sleeve of the burqa tore off. Hogarth scrabbled to grab her as she fell, got hold of the glove on her left arm, and fell against the wall, pulling it off. 

They stared at each other for a moment, both realizing at the same time that Sheila's metal arm was now exposed for the world to see—along with the black sleeve of her jumpsuit. Hogarth quickly put two and two together and went for his service pistol holstered at his side. He had just unsnapped the holster flap and cleared it when Sheila, who moved with the reflexes of a combat veteran, already had her pistol out and leveled. She fired three quick shots, taking Hogarth in the chest, the neck, and finally the head. Blood and bits of bone sprayed the immaculate wall behind him and he slumped down.

The pistol had sounded like a howitzer in the confined space of the hallway, even over the distant sound of the machine gun opening fire. She heard voices coming from that direction and scrambled to her feet. She hiked up the burqa around her thighs and ran, taking the first open door she found. It wasn't until she closed it behind her did she realize that it was Bonner's office. 

"What the hell is going on—" Sheila spun around. Samuel Bonner was no more than five steps away, standing next to his desk, one hand on a pistol that lay there. Sheila brought hers up first, and Bonner moved his hand aside, taking a step away from the gun. "Who the hell are you?"

One part of Sheila told her to simply kill the bastard and leave, accomplish the mission, and be done with it. Yet she couldn't do it—Bonner had to know why. She reached up and pulled off the burqa's hood. Her hair had been pinned up, but Bonner knew the face. "It's you," he said quietly after a pause. "It's not Marik agents after Snord. It's not Davion's Rabid Foxes either. It's you…Sheila Arla-Vlata."

"Yes," Sheila answered simply.

"Then those troops are yours?" Sheila just shrugged. To her utter surprise, Bonner leaned against a table and smiled, color returning to his face. "What the hell are you smiling about?" she snapped.

"Because, Lieutenant Commander—that's your rank, isn't it?—you're a businesswoman. A mercenary."

"So what?" Her finger tightened on the trigger. 

"We can make a deal." Bonner waved expansively around the office. "Listen, Sheila. There's a safe over there, behind the tapestry. Inside is five million C-Bills in bearer bonds. Go ahead, take it."

"Are you serious?" Sheila couldn't believe her ears.

"Certainly. Oh, I realize it now. Someone talked. Those agents of Romano Liao—they probably blabbed what I told them, about you being part of the Junior Officers' Strategy Group."

"Yes," Sheila snarled, "they did. To the Clans. Along with your 'peace' proposal."

Bonner sighed. "Well, there's no point in denying that. Yes, Commander, I did make a peace proposal. Don't you see what's happening here?" Before she could answer, Bonner slowly stood, keeping his hands in view even as he used them to emphasize his points. "Listen. You were born on Grunwald, as I recall. Mercenary or not, you're a Lyran. This is our home that's being invaded! And what's Hanse Davion doing? Sitting on his ass! Oh, I know his plan, Commander. He intends to let Lyran troops take the brunt of the fighting—and they have, along with you mercenaries—against the Clans. Once the Clans are tired out and exhausted, then he'll bring in his Davion Guards and Crucis Lancers and drive them back to the Periphery. And all the Sphere will hail him as a conquering hero, just like they did when he took half the Capellan Confederation." He waggled a finger at Sheila. "And well they could for that. I admired him, Commander, I truly did. But then, then he showed his true face.

"We were told, we loyal sons of Steiner, that we would be equals with the Davions. But the Fox lied, Sheila. All the worlds our boys and girls spilled blood for in the Fourth Succession War, he signed away in a second to the Free Rasalhague Republic. A buffer zone, he said. New markets, he said. Fat lot of good it has done us, eh? The Rasalhagians are just prey for the Wolf Clan now; whatever's left the Kurita Dragon will devour."

"So what's your point?" Sheila asked.

"My point is this, Commander: we are both Lyrans. _I_ want what's good for my country. So do you! I don't know what Hanse Davion has filled your head with, but I can assure you that he doesn't give a whit for you or me—you especially. You're just a pawn, to be discarded as needed, to be used as needed for his dirty work. You're come to kill me on his order, neh?" At Sheila's nod, he leaned back against the desk again. "Don't be seduced by him, Commander. He wants our country humbled, at his feet for him and his brood mare Melissa." He spoke the Archon's name like a piece of rotted meat was stuck in his teeth. "But we don't have to do that. We can make a peace with the Clans. They will surge into Davion space—and once the Clans' backs are turned, once they're after the Mariks and the Fox himself, then we strike!" He slammed his fist into his hand so hard it caused Sheila to jump and nearly pull the trigger. "Then _we,_ we loyal Lyrans, take back our realm not only from the damned Clans, but also from the damned Fox!" He waved away Sheila's pistol. "Take the money and go, Commander. Go home. I know your unit may have suffered a little because of my ideas, and for that, I apologize. I promise you, on my honor as Duke of Furillo, that I will see that the Sentinels get a nice, fat contract out here, away from the Clans. Think of the five million as down payment. I'm sure your father will understand."

"And you'll just forget the whole thing?"

"Of course! A misunderstanding, nothing more. We can make up some sob story about Marik agents or even rogue MIIO."

"What makes you think Hanse Davion wouldn't just send his Black—er, Rabid Foxes after you?"

"He can't, you see. Now too many people know! Besides, he's about to have his hands full anyway." Bonner dropped his voice conspiratorially. "The Clans will attack in a month, Commander. Their agents have informed me of this."

"You're lying." 

Bonner spread his hands. "Well, it's your choice to believe me or not. Shall I get the bonds for you?" He pushed off from the table.

"Get back to where you were," Sheila said, her voice low. She could feel her left hand spasming again, and she noticed Bonner watching it worriedly. "That was a nice speech, Your Grace. I had one prepared too. Want to hear it?"

"Certainly," Bonner replied, with a please-do gesture.

"I admit it's a pretty good speech. I had plenty of time to think about it, sitting in a cell in a Clan prison, naked, with my shoulders dislocated and a fractured arm." She raised the metal arm. In the short silence, they could both hear the servomotors turning as it twitched. "Took my mind off the pain, you see."

"They tortured you?" Bonner asked nervously.

"Yes. They beat me. They shot me full of drugs, humiliated me, took everything from me, made me scream out everything I knew about the JSOG. I beat my head against the floor trying to knock myself out, but they kept me awake. I pissed myself, I prayed for God to kill me, Duke Bonner, because of the pain. And the woman who tortured me just promised more. Luckily husband and my unit, and one Clanswoman who got sick of what she saw, broke into the prison and liberated me. I lost this arm in the process, and three of my MechWarriors, along with a good deal of brave Vantaa Militia and MIIO agents, are dead. And it's all because of you."

Bonner had gone pale. "Oh God…you're not here because of Hanse Davion at all." 

"No. I'm here for me." She felt herself losing control and didn't care. "Your offer of money makes me want to vomit, Bonner. No amount of money will repay what you did to me and my family." 

"Romano Liao—"

"I can't get to Romano," Sheila cut him off. "So I'll just have to settle for you."

Bonner drew himself up to his impressive height and looked down the barrel of Sheila's pistol. "Well, in that case…I guess you'd better kill me."

"You're right." Sheila raised the pistol.

"Wait!" Bonner put out his hand.

Sheila fired. Her aim was near perfect. The bullet struck Bonner in the left eye and exploded from the back of his head. His body pitched forward onto the desk. Sheila walked forward and, for nothing else than for pure rage, shot him again. She stared down at the body. She thought she might feel something—rage, pain, maybe even sorrow. But she felt nothing.

"Well done."

Sheila at first thought the voice was in her head, but realized it had come from behind and to her left. She spun, leveled the pistol, and found it pointing at Rhonda Snord. Snord raised her gloved hands. "Don't shoot me, Sheila—unlike the late Duke there, I'm not your enemy."

Sheila didn't lower the pistol. "You've seen my face. I-I have to kill you." Even as she said it, Sheila knew she couldn't do it. 

"That's true, but you probably won't do it. You had pretty good reasons, Sheila—I know, I've been standing here for the past ten minutes."

"But…but how?"

Snord smiled. "One of the guards downstairs said he saw a helicopter. When I heard the guys go in on the third floor, I knew something was up. I figured maybe someone was after me—Deity knows how many people the Irregulars have pissed off over the years. I figured the best place to hide would be Bonner's office. More fool me." Snord shrugged. "As to how I got here, well…this house used to be a Star League museum. It had a lot of priceless art on display—Dali, Warhol, Wylder, Zerg, that sort of thing. They hid all the art during the Amaris War. Dad and I cased the place back in '24 for hidden rooms. We didn't find any, but we found plenty of hidden passageways and storage rooms. Bonner was sitting on about fifty cases of Mauser Assault Systems and didn't know it."

"You weren't just stopping by!" Sheila exclaimed. "You were going to rob him!"

"Actually, no. I was going to tell him he had a bunch of worthless crates of Star League propaganda posters—which he did; that's down there too—and buy the lot." She nodded towards Bonner's body. "Guess that deal's off." She walked forward and picked up Bonner's pistol. "Anyway, yeah, you could kill me, but you'd be robbing yourself of an alibi."

"Huh?" Sheila was by now completely lost.

"Sure. I can tell how a Clan assassin burst in on me and Bonner during a pleasant dinner party and killed him, wounding me in the process—in the leg, of course." She slapped her legs, which gave a strange hollow sound; Sheila remembered that Snord's legs were artificial. "In fact, I'll scream my ass off about the dastardly Clans and how Bonner died a brave man, going for his gun." She pressed the pistol into Bonner's limp right hand. "I'll even say how I recognized 'Aysaan Manji' as the assassin, because she gave herself away at the dinner as a MechWarrior." At the look of shocked horror on Sheila's face, Snord actually laughed. "I admit, you had me almost convinced when you fielded the questions on the fatwa and fiqh. But you didn't even bother asking me what a HSLA was, which is something only a MechWarrior would know. Also, you've obviously never been to Dar-es-Salaam. I have. The women there don't dare look a man in the eye and usually don't speak more than 'hello' and 'goodbye' to foreigners like myself. I doubt anyone else noticed, but in case they did, your secret is safe." Snord leaned against the desk much as Bonner had. "Or you could just kill me."

"I can't do that," Sheila mumbled. 

"I didn't think so. You're a killer, Sheila, not a murderer. There's a big difference." Snord stood and positioned herself in front of a chair. "Sounds like your buddies have silenced that machine gun, which means they'll be here any minute. Shoot me in the leg and be off with you, you Clan bitch."

Sheila did.


	8. Homecoming

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Somewhat talky chapter here, but I didn't want Sheila to get through this with a Coke and a smile. She has a concience, and I've read too many Mary Sue fics where the main character basically commits genocide and shrugs it off as being "necessary." (And I really, really hope Sheila doesn't come off as a Mary Sue. I'm not even a girl.) I also hope Max doesn't come off as too cliché. After you read MIIO's cover story, hopefully that explains some of his anger, but I also thought I'd written him a little too laid back in earlier chapters. _

_Also, I'm not going into an aspect of Senefa's sexuality for titillating purposes. As Phelan Kell found out, the Clans have some (to a resident of the Inner Sphere) strange ideas when it comes to sex. Her admittedly brief consideration of comforting Sheila to me is just an affirmation of their close friendship. Besides, I'm not really into yuri (much less yaoi)…BTW, the Clan saying "Only a fool fights in a burning house" is a Klingon saying, but that does sound rather Clannish._

_And there's a little bit of 'Mech porn at the end for you tech types._

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: Moisin: glad you liked that. As far as "movietizing," check out the last 15 minutes of _The Wild Geese _and the last 30 minutes of _The Odessa File _for some very similar confrontations. I admit that I ripped those movies off a bit. Originally, I was going to have someone else kill the guard Sheila knocked out, but then decided that Sheila's got enough on her concience._

_Panzerfaust: Well, Sheila's already done the OPFOR thing. Probably not. The Snowbirds are going to be pretty busy fighting the Clans._

_Kat: glad you liked Rhonda Snord showing up. She's a great character; I wish Battletech would do more with her._

_4477 Thire and Noveltigger: thank you very much! 4477, your "Spirits" short story was a great inspiration._

_GreenKnight: I've sent you an e-mail with my reply to your idea for a soundtrack. Per your suggestion, I'm adding a new feature to my stories…_

_STORY SOUNDTRACK: …this one. I love listening to music when I write, so here's some suggestions for this chapter: "The Captain of Her Heart" by Double for the first part, and "Arrival to Earth" from the _Transformers _soundtrack for the second. _

_Reichenberg DropPort_

_Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth_

_30 August 3051_

The moment when Sheila stepped off the boarding ramp from the DropShip, she knew she was in trouble. She had half-expected a welcoming committee from the Snowbirds, who after all hadn't seen their commander in almost three months. Instead, there was only Max, and he looked angry. He did kiss her, but it was a kiss devoid of the usual passion, and carrying her bags seemed more perfunctory than anything else. They exchanged greetings, but when Sheila tried to say anything more, Max simply told her, "Not here." So they said nothing on the way out of the terminal, meeting a waiting hoverbus that had Sentinels sigils hastily painted on it. 

As they pulled out of the terminal parking lot, Sheila saw long lines of civilians, most carrying suitcases and children, waiting in roped off areas, waiting in line, waiting in line to get into line. In the city itself, virtually all the traffic was either military or requisitioned vehicles like the hoverbus. Roadblocks were up, and there were fully-armed Lyran infantry everywhere. Sudeten was being turned into an armed camp, prepatory to the renewal of the Clan offensive that everyone knew was coming, just not when.

Since Max was still stonily silent, Sheila watched the news reports on a television in the nearly empty bus. Like the ones shown on the DropShips she had taken from Tharkad to the waiting JumpShip and thence to Sudeten, the big news was the death of Duke Samuel Bonner at the hands of Clan assassins. The news had stunned the Inner Sphere as it spread like waves from Furillo. The Clans had struck from beyond their occupation zones. Ryan Steiner had appeared on the holovids, looking terribly shaken. For months, he had been assuring his constituents that the Clan "problem" was isolated and no real threat to Skye, and that Hanse Davion's measures to reinforce the Clan front had been unnecessarily provocative. Now the Clans had killed one of his closest allies. Hanse Davion and Melissa Steiner-Davion had issued a joint statement from Outreach, expressing sorrow for Bonner. That had been when Sheila and Senefa had returned to Tharkad. By the time Sheila's DropShip had begun landing on Sudeten, the rulers of the Federated Commonwealth had revealed that Bonner had made contact with Clan Jade Falcon, floating a peace offer, and they had killed him for it. "This proves," Melissa had said angrily, "that we are dealing with an enemy that knows no mercy, no peace, only war." Polls prominently displayed on holovids and in newspapers showed that Bonner's death had caused support for the defense of the Clan frontier to go up sharply, and recruitment offices in the Tamarind and Skye Marches reported a huge influx of new volunteers, mostly from the ranks of the Free Skye Movement who heretofore had been tepid in their support. Ministers in the Lyran Estates General who had condemned the war—none of whom were from planets in the Tamar March or anywhere else near the occupied zone—were suddenly very silent. 

Sheila felt very alone, and not because Max was upset. The mission had gone exactly as planned. Other than one minor wound among the Black Foxes, none in the assault team had been injured. None of the attendees at the summit had been hurt. Of all the billions of people in the Inner Sphere, the true nature of Duke Samuel Bonner's death was limited to less than twenty people, only three of which—Sheila, Senefa, and Rhonda Snord—were not members of the Black Foxes. In her debriefing on Tharkad with Simon Johnson, Sheila had been careful to leave Rhonda Snord out of it; she was afraid Johnson would kill her to keep the secret safe. Only Senefa knew about Snord, and Sheila knew that, ironically, her former worst enemy was now the person she could trust the most. Rhonda, for her part, was keeping her word: she was telling everyone that she was sure it was the Clans, and had even dropped another bombshell on the media by revealing her unit's ties to Wolf's Dragoons and the Clans. As Johnson had said, it was ironic that Bonner was doing more for the realm dead than he ever had alive. But only one person had pulled the trigger, and only one person had to live with that fact.

They reached the hotel that had been given over to the Sentinels. Once more, Max perfunctorily took her bags and they silently took the elevator to a room on the 14th floor that had been set aside. There was a fruit basket waiting in the room, from Senefa, who had reached Sudeten a few days earlier. Johnson had felt it was best for the two to travel separately, in case someone made the connection that neither had been seen on Tharkad for almost a week. Of the Black Foxes, Sheila never saw any of them after they had dispersed at the rally point on Furillo, and she was quite sure she never would again.

"The Snowbirds don't know you're here yet," Max said suddenly, actually making Sheila jump a little. "I told them you were coming in on the late flight down." He closed and locked the door behind them. He then walked past her and opened the curtains, revealing a spectacular view of the Reichenberg skyline in the weak sunlight of Sudeten. 

Sheila sat down on the bed, gratified there was only one in the room, which at least implied that they would be sleeping together. She cradled her arm in her lap; her left shoulder was hurting. Riva Allard had cussed her out for overexertion too soon before she left Tharkad: the official explanation was that Senefa had talked Sheila into going skiing. In her luggage, Sheila even had used lift tickets and reciepts for ski rentals, along with those for hotel rooms and dinner. If asked, the hotel staff would even confirm that Sheila and Senefa had been seen in the dining room and had broken equipment in the gym. Allard would never know that, thanks to her brother, MIIO had provided all of that, including the hotel staff, who were Loki agents; the ski lodge was a traditional hangout for the Steiner royal family. "So," she said into the silence, "are we going to just sit here and quietly brood at each other?"

Max stayed at the window. "You tell me. You're the one who suddenly was struck mute."

"Max…"

"Don't, Sheila." He turned to her, knowing he was being unreasonable but not really caring. "I came back to the hospital and you're gone. Nobody knows where you are. Finally, I get a call saying you've gone skiing with Senefa. I placed calls to the hotel, Sheila. The front desk staff confirmed you were there. 24 hours later, I get orders to report back here to Sudeten ASAP. The next thing I hear from you was your message three days ago." His fists balled. "Sheila, I'm your husband. I can understand if you wanted some alone time with Senefa--"

"Alone time?" Sheila shot to her feet. "You talk like Senefa and I are lesbians!"

"Are you?" Max asked with bitterness.

Sheila looked horrified. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Again, you tell me. You spend a lot of time with her—a _lot_ of time for someone who once promised to kill you. In fact, you spent more time with her in the hospital than you did with me." Max sighed, looked down, and shook his head. "Good God, Sheila. We sound like my parents."

Sheila sat back down on the bed, heavily. Mira and Todd Canis-Vlata had experienced a very rocky marriage, mainly due to Todd's drinking. Arguments were frequent and vicious. It was more than that: Mira had a vindictive streak, and had taken lovers in revenge for her husband getting drunk every night when he wasn't out on a mission or helping around the 'Mech bays. That had led to Todd having an affair in retaliation for Mira's infidelity, and Max had been very happy to leave for the New Avalon Military Academy when he was fourteen. Lately, Mira and Todd had forgiven each other and begun to rebuild their marriage; ironically, the Clan War had driven them back together much as it had driven together Sheila and Max. "You're not a drunk, Max," Sheila said quietly. "And I'm not having an affair with Senefa. Maybe she's a switch hitter—the Clans don't seem to have much in the way of sexual taboos—but I'm not. And even if I was, I would never, _ever_ run around on you."

Max's anger had not abated. "That's good to hear, Sheila, but I still can't believe you did that. Unless, of course, that's not what you were doing."

"I don't understand."

"Yes, you do." Max reached into the complimentary basket of newspapers—Sudeten still had paper—and held up the front page. It read DUKE BONNER SLAIN. "You and Senefa suddenly disappear for a few days on a skiing trip. You don't ski. And then I find out that Bonner got cacked by Clan commandos for trying to make a peace with them—when Senefa told me straight on the _Minerva_ that he was working to basically betray the Federated Commonwealth. I put two and two together."

Sheila was white as a sheet. "Max," she whispered, "shut up, for God's sake! If this room's bugged—have you told _anyone_?"

"It's not bugged. I had Nicia check it. With all the Liao spies running around the Sentinel 'Mech bays these days, she checked, no questions asked. In fact—" Max pointed to a small device that looked like a cell phone "—I had her whip up a white noise generator. And I haven't told a soul. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not stupid, and I know if I leaked what I suspected that I'd probably end up in the local river with ferrocrete galoshes."

Sheila leaned forward, covering her face in her hands. "Oh shit…if you've figured it out, that means someone else will…"

"I doubt it. Remember that Senefa basically spilled the beans to me first. I knew already. Plus I heard from Marion that the Liao agent they captured—the one who sabotaged your jumpjets—that Bonner was ass in glove with Romano." He raised a hand as she suddenly looked worriedly at him. "The only one who knows what the Liao dude said is me, Marion, Elfa, Tessya, your dad, and my mom. Well, probably my dad does too, and maybe your mom. But that's it. Calla even threw Maysa out of the 'Mech bay when the Liao guy started screaming uncle. The only reason Marion told me was because she felt _you_ should know who set you up. She doesn't know about Bonner and the Clans; she thinks it was Romano trying to get at Marion through you. Which may still be true."

"That's still too many, Max."

Max shrugged. "No point in worrying about it now. Your dad thought what the Liao guy said was so secret that he didn't even fax it to Outreach, and he definitely didn't send it ComStar. He sent my mom, personally."

"I knew that part. Simon Johnson told me." At Max's wide eyes, she nodded. "Yes, _the_ Simon Johnson, top spook in the LIC." Sheila took a deep breath. She had to tell him. "Max," she said, patting the bed next to her, "please sit down."

He shook his head, though he did walk over to her. "No, Sheila. Not while we have secrets. I've told you _everything_ about my life, even about that little incident I had on Shensi where I killed another boy. The only people who know about that in the Sentinels are my parents—"

"Dammit, Max!" Sheila shrilled. "I—I want to talk about it! I'm just afraid! I'm…" Sheila burst into tears and buried her face in her hands, sobbing. "I just can't…"

Max felt crushed. Now he had hurt her. "Sheila, I…" He sighed again. "Shit." He sat down next to her and pulled her into his embrace. "Baby, I'm sorry. Jesus God, I know better than that." He cradled her, rocking her gently, smoothing her hair, which was starting to unravel from its ponytail. "I love you, Sheila. I just don't want us to end up like my folks, hiding things from each other." 

"I killed him, Max, I killed him," she sobbed into his shoulder.

That took him aback, the last thing he had expected from her. "Killed? Killed who?"

"Bonner." Sheila pulled back a little to look her husband in the face. He wore an expression of shock, which she expected, but did not try to pull away from her. "I guess you'd better explain," he merely said.

"You're right, Max; you're right about all of it." She shuddered and lay against his chest, sniffling back her tears. "Johnson brought Senefa and I on as consultants. Senefa's the resident expert on the Clans, of course. They wanted it to look like Bonner had been killed by the Jade Falcons, and of course they needed Senefa for that. The Black Fox commander said that Senefa might as well accompany them on the mission, once they saw how good she is." Her voice was barely a whisper. "He said I wasn't good enough, and he was right—but then they found out about that LCIA summit and were afraid they would have to cancel the mission. So I volunteered to go in disguise." She told him about her infiltration, about Snord, Hogarth, and then Bonner. "It wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. One of the Foxes was just supposed to gun him down cold; no explanation, nothing. But I wanted the bastard to know, Max. I wanted him to know it was me, the one who he had sold out. Just like in the holos. He wanted to kill us; hell, he was just as responsible for Terry Nutter, Art McKenna, and Tinyak Fernplanter. And I killed him back, Max—one through the eye." Sheila made a choking noise. "I thought it would feel good, Max. Or something. But I…heaven help me…I didn't feel a d-damn thing!" She began to cry again. "T-That's what hurts so much, Max!" she said between sobs. "_He_ didn't feel anything! Bonner even saw what he was doing as patriotic! He tried to fucking buy me off! I'm just like him…I'm just like him!"

"No, you're not." Max lifted her chin and kissed her. "You know why? Because you care. You think if he'd iced you, he'd be sitting there bawling his eyes out? I kinda fucking doubt it."

"That's not the point," Sheila insisted. "Max, I just shot him down. It wasn't like the Elemental in Fort Pilum. You were right; that was self-defense—"

"And this wasn't?"

"No! He was unarmed!" She wiped at her tears, which further smeared her makeup. "Just because I feel bad about it doesn't make me right. I murdered him, Max. Nobody else. Just me. And when I see the shit on the news and in the papers, it makes me want to throw up. They'll never know the truth, Max, and if they did, they'd want my head on a plate. Maybe they'd be right. I basically did Hanse and Melissa's dirty work for them." She sniffled. "You probably hate me now…"

"Now that's enough." Max poked her in the chest, hard. "Sheila, _I love you._ That won't change. Ever. You know what was going through my mind when we took our vows back on Outreach?" She gave a minute shake of the head. "I was thinking, 'I'm not gonna be like my dad. I'm not gonna fuck this up.' For better or for worse, Sheila. I meant those words. And you know what was going through my head when I heard Bonner was dead?" He waited until she again replied in the negative. "'Serves the bastard right.' Like you said—he tried to kill us, so you killed him back."

"But I _murdered_ him, Max. I killed an unarmed man who was pleading for his life!"

Max was quiet for a moment. "Okay, fine. You murdered him. If you hadn't, someone else would've—"

"No, Max. Don't even say that. That's the same moral equivalence bullshit that allowed the Falcons to explain away Front Royal."

"Okay, fine," Max repeated. "Let's say _nobody _killed him, or maybe you took his bribe and left him alive. Do you think he'd have gone straight? You think he would've marched down to the local court and turned himself in? You know he wouldn't have. He would've probably contacted Romano Liao and had more Maskirovka assassins after us this very second. The man had no scruples, Sheila. At the very least, he'd still be trying to screw us over here at the front. Okay, he didn't find the right guy in the Jade Falcons, but eventually he would've found someone who would listen," Max said, unconciously repeating Melissa Steiner-Davion weeks earlier. "And then what? We lose the war, and probably either get killed in the process, or stuck in some hellhole POW camp. Or Bonner has us killed so we can't talk. Either way, a lot of people die because Bonner doesn't like Hanse Davion and is willing to betray his own countrymen to get what he wants. And you can bet that when the Clans turned on him—and eventually they would've—he would've betrayed more people and gotten more people killed. People like Bonner will feed the tiger as long as they can, Sheila."

"So…you're saying…he's better off dead."

"Pretty much, yeah." Max kissed her forehead. "Sheila, I can't say 'it's all good' and then rip off your clothes and have mad monkey sex with you, and you'll instantly feel all better. Well…I _could,_ and I probably will, but the only person who can forgive yourself is you. All I'm saying is that leaving Bonner alive would've been worse than killing him. Maybe I'm just trying to justify it to myself to make us both feel better. I don't know. I'm sorry you had to kill him, but it was the only way. He started this, Sheila, not us."

Sheila put her arms around her husband. She knew that Max was probably right, but it still remained that she had killed someone in cold blood, not in a 'Mech or a hand-to-hand fight. She knew that someday she would be able to live with that, and someday maybe even forgive herself. But it wouldn't be today. "Max…" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Just hold me, okay?"

"Sure, Sheila. Always."

* * *

_Sentinel Base Sudeten_

_Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth_

_30 August 3051_

Senefa Malthus tensed up and seriously considered returning back to the hotel. Berating herself for showing fear most unbecoming of a Clan MechWarrior, she squared her shoulders and walked into the 'Mech bay, half expecting to be ambushed at any moment. The message from this Master Tech Nicia Caii was to report down to the main 'Mech bay at her convienence. Senefa did not want to admit that it had taken her the two days she had been on Sudeten to summon up her courage to do so. Surely the Snowbirds and the Sentinels were not that ready to forget and forgive. She had no trouble getting on the base, with barely a second glance from the SLI guards, and had walked unmolested to the bay. Still, that did not mean that there could be a nasty "accident" waiting for her. There was an old Clan saying that only a fool fought in a burning house, but Senefa could be stepping into a firestorm. 

She was now more or less free. Simon Johnson had assured her that neither MIIO nor the LIC had any further need (or use, Senefa figured) for her, so she was cleared to leave Tharkad and go wherever she liked. Of course, she had already made that decision, and told Johnson she would be leaving for Sudeten presently to join the Sentinels. Johnson had reminded her to keep quiet about the Bonner affair and let her go with a wish of good luck. Though she had been escorted from the Triad to the hotel and thence to Tharkad's DropPort by Lohengrin guards, after that, she had been on her own. She had arrived on Sudeten, processed her paperwork, and found herself assigned a room in the same hotel Sheila would be staying in. Waiting for her was a set of fatigues, which she now wore, with her name printed on the left pocket—MALTHUS—with single stripes on blood-red collar and shoulder tabs. From what Sheila had told her, the red stood for MechWarriors, which was a tradition that dated back to the Star League, and the single stripe denoted a MechWarrior. She had felt a little let down at that—Senefa enjoyed command—but figured it was too much to ask to start out anywhere but at the bottom. At least she had a 'Mech, though only heaven knew what she had been assigned. It wasn't one of the Snowbirds' precious few OmniMechs, of that she was certain. Other than that, there was a letter welcoming her to the regiment, informing her of her pay, a handsome sum of 600 C-Bills a month (which would take some getting used to; Clan MechWarriors did not draw a salary, having everything paid for); her assignment to the Heavy Lance of the Snowbirds Special Missions Combined Arms Team, which implied that she was getting a heavy 'Mech; her room assignment, and instructions to report for duty in 72 hours. Nicia's message had come before that deadline.

Whatever surprises her sudden acceptance to a unit she had done her best to defeat held, the 'Mech bay was wonderfully familiar. To a stranger, the smell of lubricants, burned metal, cordite, missile propellant, sweat, grease, dirt and ozone was a gross miasma. To Senefa, it was like coming home. She had not been in a 'Mech in almost three months, the longest she had been without a machine since she had left the sibko and become a MechWarrior five years previously. The sight of the giant 'Mechs in a long, serried row in the cavernous bay, the hiss of welding torches and the clang of tools, the calls and curses of techs which were no less familiar despite their not being Clan, filled her heart with something very close to love, as she understood the term. No one paid her the least attention, and Senefa realized that none of these people knew who she was: she was just another MechWarrior. To test her hypothesis, she asked a passing tech where the Master Tech's office was. The man balanced the heavy wrench over his shoulder and pointed to an open door about fifty meters away. She felt his eyes on her as she thanked him and walked on, then smiled when she noticed him leering as she walked away. The tech wasn't looking at her as Senefa Malthus, ex-Clan Jade Falcon MechWarrior; he was appreciating a well-toned female MechWarrior bottom. _Well, some things are universal,_ she thought with a small chuckle. _I suppose I should find out what the local custom is for coupling, in case I should get interested in someone. Sheila seemed to have some bizarre feelings on the matter._

Senefa thought briefly about her friend. It was hard enough to think of Sheila Arla-Vlata as a friend, but she was, possibly the only one Senefa really had now. She had informed Senefa and the Black Foxes that she had killed Bonner, which Nelson had verified before they left the mansion. Nelson had merely told Sheila "well done" and left it at that, but despite the dangers of security, Senefa had stayed with Sheila and they had left Furillo together, posing as sisters—which was no great trouble, given their close resemblance, though it hadn't been until they reached Tharkad that Sheila had gotten the bleach out of her hair. She had been thoroughly depressed and subject to uncontrollable crying, which mystified Senefa. Sheila had gotten her revenge: maybe it wasn't as cut and dried or as honorable as a Circle of Equals, but it was certainly nothing to feel remorse over. Had Sheila been a member of her sibko, Senefa might have even considered coupling with her to comfort her friend, but Sheila and Max were "married" and devoted to each other, so Senefa had quickly dismissed the idea. Nonetheless, it had brought home the fact that Senefa was a stranger in a strange land, and she could not express her relief at being able to get back into what she had been literally born to do.

She walked into the office and saw a figure partially obscured behind a large easel and several rolls of paper. "Excuse me," Senefa spoke clearly, "is Master Tech Nicia Caii here?"

"Just a sec," said a disembodied voice, then the figure came around the easel. Senefa was surprised to find herself staring up at what had to be Master Tech Nicia Caii; she wore the pocket-covered overalls that was another universality with techs. Senefa was nearly six feet, and Nicia had at least seven inches on her, and her slimness and bald head made her seem even taller. Nicia wiped her hands on a rag. "You must be Senefa Malthus," she said with a smile, and stuck out a hand. Senefa took it, impressed at the grip. "Pleased to meet you."

"That surprises me," Senefa replied.

"Why? Oh, because you were a Clanner." Nicia dismissed it with a wave. "No big deal." At Senefa's raised eyebrow, Nicia spread her hands in a shrug. "Look, Malthus, we've got MechWarriors from every House and Periphery dirthole in the Inner Sphere here. The Sentinels have fought against just about every one of 'em's home realm. During the Ronin War back in '44, we were fighting a Kurita unit alongside a Kurita unit, the same damn Galedon Regulars we'd fought against in the Fourth War. It happens. Come on."

Senefa followed Nicia out back out into the 'Mech bay. "Then…I should not worry?"

Nicia looked back over her shoulder. They had to raise their voices over the constant din. "Well…I'd watch your back if I was you, until people get used to you. Wounds are still fresh. Still, the word's gotten around that you told your Clan to shove it after Front Royal, and everyone knows how you busted Sheila out of jail. That means a lot to us, and not just the Snowbirds, and not just because Sheila's the CO's daughter. 

"The first thing you should know, Malthus, is that the Sentinels are a family. We ride together, we die together. I grew up in these 'Mech bays. So did Sheila. You can talk to some old heads like Jaggar or Shikari or Kaatha and they'll tell you how they bounced Sheila on their knee. A lot of this regiment sees Sheila as their daughter too, and you saving her means a lot, like I said. So I don't think you have much to worry about." Nicia laughed. "Of course, from what I hear, you can handle yourself pretty good, so I think peeps are going to think twice about taking a swing at you. Ah, here we are."

"Where is here?" Senefa wondered. It looked no different from any other part of the 'Mech bay. 

"Your 'Mech." Nicia pointed upwards. Senefa followed her finger. The shape was somewhat unfamiliar, but after a moment she classified it. "It's a _Thunderbolt,_" she said.

"TDR-7AS," Nicia said formally. "Modified off a standard TDR-5S chassis." Nicia motioned her closer. "Now you used to drive a _Thor,_ right?" It took Senefa a moment to remember the Inner Sphere name for the _Summoner._ She nodded. "Right," Nicia continued, "now the _Thor_ has that funny offset cockpit because of the way the missile drum is placed. Well, the _T-Bolt_ has the same thing. Figured it was as close as we could get." 

"Certainly," Senefa agreed. The _Summoner_ had actually been based off the venerable _Thunderbolt_, just as the _Timber Wolf_ was a modification of the _Marauder_. 

"It would be tough to get used to having a centerline cockpit, so this is what I figured would be best once I heard you'd be joining up. Now there's some things you're going to have to remember." Nicia ticked the points off her long fingers. "One, you don't have the range you once did, with one exception—this baby." She slapped the massive weapon barrel that was attached to the _Thunderbolt's_ right arm. "That's a Gauss Rifle. We had to replace the large laser and put in a shitload of counterweights, but now you've got a weapon you can reach out and hurt something with. She's got the same range and hitting power of the Gausses you're used to." 

"I see," Senefa observed. She actually preferred PPCs to Gauss Rifles, since the latter could fry the pilot's brain with feedback if they exploded, which they did with alarming regularity in battle, but the Gauss would give her equal firepower and range with Clan opponents. "How many rounds do I have?"

"Sixteen. You'll have to watch what you shoot at a bit."

"Aff." Senefa tended to hit what she shot at, so that was fine. "What is next?"

"Well, some bad news. The standard 5S carries a LRM-15 canister. We had to downgrade that to a LRM-5. The other missile ports are dummies to make the bad guys think you're carrying a '15. Still, they'll figure it out pretty quick." Nicia walked up to the _Thunderbolt_'s wide feet and slapped a bulge near it's ankle. "This is why. Your _Thor_ used to jump, so we installed jumpjets. Don't worry; this is a standard mod to the _T-Bolt_. The Eridani Light Horse have their _T-Bolts_ modded this way. Now you won't have quite the mobility of a _Thor_, as your top end is going to only by 68 klicks an hour and your jump cap is only 120 meters. Still, most opponents won't be expecting you to jump on them." She motioned Senefa to follow, and they went around the rear of the 'Mech. "See those ports? CASE protection. You take a shot into the LRM ammo bin, and it'll blow out those ports there and direct the blast away from the 'Mech's insides." Nicia smiled. "Sorry. I forgot you Clanners already have that tech built in. We folks in the Inner Sphere have to actually install it. Costs half a ton of weight, but it's worth it, as you know."

"Aff." Senefa's life had been saved on several occasions by the CASE equipment. It still crippled the 'Mech and the force of the explosion of several rounds of missile or cannon ammunition could still knock a MechWarrior unconscious, but it made the difference between limping home and being forced to eject. She followed Nicia as they completed their circle of the _Thunderbolt_. "Secondary array?"

"Three medium lasers. They don't hit as hard or have the range of Clan mediums, but they're actually more heat efficient." She pointed to a rectangular block set opposite of the cockpit on the blocky torso, dotted with three laser ports. The _Thunderbolt_ was not built for aesthetics, but for hard use. "Now you've got double heat sinks on this baby—we're trying to refit all our machines with 'em—so heat shouldn't be a problem. You can fire everything, jump, and even take an engine hit and she won't overheat on you." Nicia put her hands on her hips and grinned. "She's got eleven and a half tons of armor. Bit less than I'd like, but _Thunderbolts _can take a beating. So. What do you think?"

Senefa knew that Nicia had probably worked on this machine herself. She inspected the craftsmanship of the welds on the Gauss Rifle, the extra effort put in to dummy up the LRM-15 circular missile launcher as opposed to just settling for the square-shaped LRM-5 launcher, even the three shades of gray and black camouflage scheme and Snowbirds crest painted with care onto the 'Mech. Nicia was an artist, as much as Michelangelo, and she regarded the _Thunderbolt_ as a masterpiece. And she was entirely correct. "It is exquisite. I am much honored, Master Tech," Senefa said respectfully. "I would have been satisfied with less."

"Maybe that goes in the Clans, but here in the Sentinels we try to give you the best." Nicia slapped the _Thunderbolt_'s foot. "So, do you want a name on her? The boss says we can't put artwork on the 'Mechs because it takes too long to repaint—though our aerojocks and jockettes love to paint buck naked chicks and dudes on their birds."

"A name?" Senefa asked.

"Sure. A 'Mech without a name is just a 'Mech. These big bastards need a personality. Who wants to fight for Serial Number TDR-5AS 708466?"

Senefa had to think about that one. The Clans only occasionally named their 'Mechs, and then usually only Bloodnamed warriors of higher rank who would be permanently assigned a 'Mech. She knew that Sheila had _Clan Eater_ painted on hers, and that Max Canis-Vlata had _6 Months in Sick Bay_ painted on his missile launcher, followed by _Burial at Sea_ on his PPC. Nearly all the 'Mechs she had seen in the bay had some sort of name. "How about _Senefa's Stomper_?" Nicia suggested. Senefa shook her head; that was too juvenile. "How about a phrase in Latin, right here?" Senefa asked, pointing to the Gauss's barrel.

"Have to be back on the housing, otherwise the carbon scoring will blot it out after a few shots, but sure. Anything in particular?"

"_Oderint dum Metuant._"

Nicia scratched her head. "Don't know that one. I know _Noli non illegitimae, carbor undem est._" Senefa mentally translated: don't let the bastards get you down. "What does it mean?"

She smiled a predatory smile. "Let them hate so long as they fear." 


	9. Sundragon

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Somewhat shorter chapter this time, as I have to set the stage for the big 'Mech fight coming up (hopefully next chapter, but you never can tell). I also had to introduce some new characters (including someone a certain faithful reviewer has been bugging me about for awhile) and get Sheila a new 'Mech. So there's some more tech porn here. (There's also a reference to Masamune Shirow's _Dominion Tank Police_ that I couldn't resist.)_

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: GreenKnight: well, this chapter should just about do it for you. You get your questions answered and there's some more scenes with Nicia. One request I have is maybe leave shorter comments—your last one had a short story you should post on rather than in a review! (Besides, you have my e-mail!)_

_4477: Back to work I am._

_FraserMage: According to _Lethal Heritage,_ the _Thor_ was named because it had a PPC and an autocannon (lighting and thunder), but I think that was Stackpole trying to hide the real origins of the 'Mech and the Clans by extension. That mod does work; I tested it out in Heavy Metal Pro. Never heard any Mandalorian sayings, but I used to be quite the Trekker back in the day._

_SulliMike23: Yep. The Snowbird Saga is becoming as much about their friendship as anything else._

_STORY SOUNDTRACK: Hmm. Try "The Remora" from _Executive Decision_ or "Roll Tide" from _Crimson Tide. _(I'd love to see what Jerry Bruckheimer could do with a Battletech flick.)_

_Sudeten Hyatt Regency_

_Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth_

_31 August 3051_

The phone rang insistently, cutting obnoxiously into Max Canis-Vlata's sleep. He woke up, mumbled a few choice curse words, and reached for the phone, blanking the visual feed. "Yeah," he muttered, still half-asleep.

"Max?" It was Frederick Matria. "Hate to bother you, man, but we just got an Action This Day message. You and Sheila gotta report to the CP in fifteen minutes. We're sending a car over."

Max instantly came awake. Action This Day messages came straight from either the most senior officer in the March—in this case, Morgan Hasek-Davion—or the Archon herself. They were uncommon and never boded well for the continued long health of the people who received them. "Okay," he replied. "Can you give us half an hour? Need to shower."

"Sure. See you in a few." Matria signed off.

Max looked over at Sheila, who amazingly was still asleep. He was glad to see that; she had enough to keep her awake at nights, so maybe his words had helped. Gently, he shook her shoulder. "Babe. Babe, wake up." Sheila mumbled something unintelligible, so he shook harder. From under the covers, her artificial arm came up, waving him off. The sight of it still bothered him some. "Go 'way," Sheila said sleepily, and turned over. Max sighed, got up, grabbed the covers, and pulled them off of her. "Up!" he yelled, as Sheila curled into a ball. _Oh hell,_ Max thought, _I shouldn't have done that._ The Sudeten night was hot and though Max was clad only in his shorts, Sheila had decided to sleep sans apparel. The shadows cloaked her, but that just made his imagination work all the harder. "What th' hell…" she said.

"Matria called. We gotta stand to."

That brought her awake. "Oh…okay." Sheila stretched languidly, like a cat. "And I was having such a good dream."

_Same here,_ Max thought, turning red. _Just came true, too._ "Uh…let's…let's go shower. We only have half an hour."

Sheila pulled herself out of bed. "That's plenty of time…" She winked at him. "…for you to wash your commander's back."

* * *

Thirty minutes (and a lot of steamed windows) later, they were in a briefing room with Calla Bighorn-Vlata and Morgan Hasek-Davion. Calla obviously wanted to talk at length to his daughter, but there was no time, and Hasek-Davion dominated the conversation. Twenty minutes after that, Sheila was in the Snowbirds' assigned 'Mech bay with her battalion gathered there. As soon as the message had come in, Matria, the duty officer, had quickly woken up all the Snowbirds.

When Sheila entered the 'Mech bay, there at first was silence as commander and battalion regarded each other for the first time in months. Then abruptly Felisanna shot to her feet and began clapping, followed by Tooriu Kku, and then all the others, whistling and stomping their feet. Sheila noticed Maysa Bari typically in tears, while Marion Rhialla just wore a wide grin. Nicia Caii shot a fist in the air and let out a whoop. And Senefa Malthus was among them, sitting off to the left, part of and yet not yet part of the Snowbirds; she was smiling, though she did not clap. Sheila felt her own face feel as if it was about to split from the smile she had, and felt her eyes filling with tears, though she just managed to hold them back. She was home.

Elfa Brownoak stood at the head of the battalion, which was assembled on bleachers at the far end of the 'Mech bay. She snapped to. "Ten_-hoon!"_ she shouted over the din. "Commanding officer present!" The yells and clapping instantly ceased as the battalion, all 28 MechWarriors and one tech, came to attention. Elfa walked forward and formally saluted Sheila. "Welcome back, Commander."

Sheila returned the salute. "Thank you, Major. Status?"

"All present and accounted for." Elfa glanced at Nicia. "Unit is three MechWarriors short. All 'Mechs operational."

"Excellent. Thanks. Major, I relieve you of command."

Elfa grinned. "I stand relieved." And with that, the Snowbirds Special Missions Combined Arms Trinary was once more Sheila's. Another great cheer went up from the assembled MechWarriors. She put up her arms to quiet them down.

"Welcome back, Sheila!" yelled Tessya Blackthorn.

"Thanks, Tess."

"How's the arm work?" This from Tooriu. "Max looks awfully happy; must work pretty good."

Both of them instantly blushed, which brought whoops and wolf-whistles from the crowd. Sheila was sorely tempted to comment on Tooriu's rumored activity with Elfa, but let it go. "Good enough to crack you over the head, hentai," she shot back instead. "Okay, that's enough. We need to get down to business." Sheila took up a position behind a podium. "First of all, I'm sorry to hear about Tinyak Fernplanter, Art McKenna, and Terry Nutter. They were good men—damn good men. They died standing up and fighting back." Sheila hated the words, because that was all they were. Both McKenna and Nutter had been family men and left behind children that would never really know their father. Fernplanter had a brother serving on the Taurian frontier in a Capellan March Militia unit; it would be months before the brother learned of the death. The knowledge that McKenna and Fernplanter had died saving her cut Sheila to the bone, but there was nothing to do about it now. "I've heard some people say that they died for nothing, because we lost Vantaa. Well, that's bull, because they died for their buddies, for us." _For me._ "We must remember them as our honored comrades, forever in the field, but we have a mission to complete."

Sheila turned to the two MechWarriors who had followed her into the 'Mech bay, along with Max. "These two folks have volunteered to fill out our unit for this mission. I'm sure you know Megan O'Reilly and Bien Canonizado." Both warriors waved. O'Reilly was an "old head" from "lots of different places," as she said, who had been with the Sentinels since before the War of 3039. She still retained her beauty despite 20 years in 'Mechs, but incongrously chewed a cigar. Canonizado had joined the regiment not long before Sheila and Max and was more their age, a promising fencer from a Steiner noble family from Chapultepec who had given it all up for the chance at being a MechWarrior. O'Reilly exchanged backslaps with Rhialla, an old friend, while Canonizado took a place next to Felisanna, who instantly gave him a hug. "I hope you'll welcome them into the fold, as it were. Megan will be taking over Tinyak's position with her _Wolfhound_ in Tessya's lance, while Bien's going to Tooriu's bunch with his _Victor._"

"Better watch it," Tooriu said over his shoulder to Canonizado. "Felisanna ain't housebroken."

"Prick!" Felisanna playfully kicked the much bigger Tooriu in the back.

The battalion dissolved in laughter, and Sheila exchanged a grin with Max. _That went well._ Sheila had expected it would; both were already Sentinels and fairly well known. _Now for the real task._

"You also may notice our other new addition." Sheila motioned to Senefa Malthus. "Now I know this isn't easy. Yes, Senefa was a Clanner. We fought her on Planting and Vantaa. However, she fought us with honor, and she kept us all from being overrun at Sharpsburg when she defected. We owe her big—_I_ owe her big. I invited her to join the Snowbirds, and she consented to do so. Now I want you to do the same--but if you object, it won't reflect on you at all. All in favor, raise your hands. " Instantly the majority of the Snowbirds raised their hands, followed by a few more who did so more slowly. Sheila was glad to see the majority agreed with her: as Max had said, they all remembered what Senefa had done at Sharpsburg. "All who say no, raise your hands." Some hands did go up at that: Sheila noticed Tessya Blackthorn and Chuck Badaxe among them. "Majority rules," Sheila pronounced, then turned to Senefa. "Senefa Malthus, welcome to the Snowbirds."

"Thank you, Commander." Senefa stepped down from the bleachers. "May I say a few words?" Sheila nodded. "Again, I thank you." The Clanswoman faced the Snowbirds. "It is said that a person who defects once will do it again. I assure you this is not the case and never shall be, upon my life and honor.

"I was once your enemy. I opposed you on the battlefield. My Falcons killed some of yours, and you killed some of mine. That is what warriors do. I understand and accept this; I am sorry if you cannot." Senefa surveyed the faces in front of her, seeing some of them nod in agreement, some of them turning red with hate. "Today I am no longer your enemy. I am not yet worthy to be called your friend, as these are." She motioned at O'Reilly and Canonizado. "That is a bond that must be tested on the battlefield. But I can assure you that I will fight and, if necessary, die for the cause you believe in: to stop the Clans.

"Yes, that sounds strange from one who once counted herself among them. Yet their ways are wrong, and I will follow them no longer. I do not know where my life's journey leads me, but I do know, as a friend once told me—" she smiled over her shoulder at Sheila "—that being a MechWarrior is my first, best, and _only_ destiny. This is what I was literally born for. I only ask that you count me among you, fellow warriors." Senefa gave them a nod, then resumed her seat next to Marion.

It took a moment for people to realize she had stopped. Then Tooriu stood up, slammed his massive hands together, and proclaimed, "That's beautiful!" It broke the tension, and people began clapping. Marion punched Senefa lightly in the shoulder and mouthed "Showoff," though Sheila couldn't hear her. Sheila also noticed that there were some, not all of whom had voted against Senefa, who did not clap and cheer. There were still open wounds here.

"Now that it's settled—" Sheila began, but Marion stood up. "What is it, Marion?"

"Begging your pardon, Sheila, but we still need a new Lance Commander for Nutter's lance."

"Sorry. I forgot." This was something to think about. Sentinel tradition was to nominate someone from within the lance itself: MechWarriors were more likely to follow someone they knew. At the very least, it had to be someone within the company; it was rare that an outsider was brought in, though if no one was deemed competent enough, it had to be done. Sheila looked to Togan Nordkoping: the big Rasalhagian was the senior MechWarrior in the lance. "Togan?"

Nordkoping stood. "I nominate Maysa Bari."

Maysa instantly went white as a sheet, and Sheila for a brief moment of panic thought that the sixteen year old would faint. She would be the youngest lance commander in Sentinels history if she was confirmed, and there was no denying Maysa had skill—but could she command? She obviously didn't think so: she was shaking her head in terror. "She's a bit young," Sheila replied to Nordkoping, mainly to stall for time.

"She's also the best shot we have," Nordkoping told her.

"Aye, but kin she fight a lance?" O'Reilly said in her brogue, obviously unafraid to speak her mind.

"No, I can't!" Maysa exclaimed. "I just can't!" She frantically looked around. "Wha-what about Senefa?"

Sheila swore she could hear jaws hitting the floor, hers included. Making Senefa a MechWarrior in the Snowbirds was controversy enough for one day; now Maysa was talking about promoting her. Both Sheila and Senefa were about to protest, but Nordkoping, rubbing his beard in thought, shrugged and said, "Not a bad idea."

"Yes it is!" Chuck Badaxe yelled.

"No, it isn't," Nordkoping calmly replied. "She commanded a Cluster, so she knows how to command. We know just how good she is—only too well. That's a pretty good idea, Maysa. Commander," Nordkoping told Sheila, "I agree with MechWarrior Bari."

"But she's a Clanner!" Badaxe protested.

"A lot of people thought you were just a rich boy come to play too," Elfa snapped. That silenced Badaxe. "I have no objections, Sheila." As company commander, she had to sign off on the promotion.

That left one person that Sheila had to hear from: Stefan Jones, the fourth member of the lance. Jones was a year old than Sheila, a graduate of the famous Sanglamore Academy on Skye. All eyes turned to him. He looked at Senefa, then down, then at the ceiling—anywhere but the others. He hesitated. "I...I guess it's okay."

"You sure?" asked Nordkoping.

"Yeah." Jones' voice was more firm. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Senefa?" By Sentinels tradition, a promotion had to be agreed to by the candidate. Many MechWarriors turned down higher promotion to stay with their lance, the only family many of them had.

"If it is acceptable, then I agree."

Sheila thought about holding another vote, but then heard Jaime Wolf's voice in her head. _If you are in command, command._ "Very well then. Senefa Malthus, you've been promoted to Lance Commander and command of Heavy Lance, Bravo Company, Snowbirds SMCAT. I'll clear it with the CO and we'll get you new rank tabs before the op." Sheila held up her hands. "Now. Let's get to the reason we're here…"

Nicia had already set up the holotank; Sheila switched it on. "Naturally, everything you see here is top secret. Talk about it to anyone and I'll have your heads on a plate." The image resolved into a globe. "This should look familiar—it's Vantaa." There was some talk amongst the Snowbirds, and Sheila shook her head. "Sorry, we're not going back to retake it. It's just the Snowbirds on this op. Our job is to go in and get the Vantaa Rangers out."

Sheila nodded towards a raised hand: Kaatha's. "Just them?" she asked.

"I'm afraid so. After we left back in June, the Rangers took to the hills around Cold Harbour. They've been raiding Clan supply columns since then, in anticipation of us counterattacking. Well, Hanse Davion put the kibosh on that; we just don't have the manpower. But we're not going to leave them behind—not after all they did. What's more is, according to a message the Rangers got off Vantaa through a friendly ComStar Precentor, the Wolves are getting ready to move in with a full-court press on the Rangers, so we have to get them out now."

Sheila zoomed in on a section on Vantaa just west of Cold Harbour. "The Rangers have pulled way back from the city to Lynchburg. They're holed up in a hotel complex outside the town called Greenbrier. So far, the Clans haven't figured this out yet, but that won't last.

She zoomed in further. "This is Operation Sundragon. We'll burn in to about two klicks offplanet, then combat drop in. We'll all land together on this plateau, six kilometers south of the Greenbrier. Once we're all down, we'll split into two groups: Alpha Company, with me, will secure Greenbrier. The Rangers supposedly have already secured transportation. We'll cover them and move the ten kilometers west to Lynchburg DropPort, which Bravo Company will have already secured. Elfa, I'll leave that to your discretion. You'll have a platoon of the SLI to play with too."

"Oh, thank God," Elfa breathed. "No more dismounted ops for _this_ blonde." There were laughs and calls of agreement at that.

"Once the DropPort is secured, the DropShip will land. We'll load them all up, take off, and come home. Total time on the ground should be no longer than three hours."

"Enemy forces?" Marion asked.

"After we retreated offplanet, the Jade Falcons had to cede the world to the Wolves because they took far more casualties. According to intel, there are two Wolf Clusters onplanet: the 7th Battle and the 16th Battle. The 7th has taken up residence in our old digs at Cold Harbour, while the 16th is at Rissala, so we won't have to worry about the latter. Star Colonel Carmin Winson is in command of the 7th, and he's very good—but he's got most of his forces arrayed on the main supply routes from Sharpsburg to Cold Harbour to Rissala. They're not bothering with the Massanutten Valley or Lynchburg because there's nothing strategically important there. Moreover, the main road from Sharpsburg to Lynchburg is still unusable because the bridge at Front Royal remains wrecked."

"Along with everything else in Front Royal," commented Tessya.

"Right. Our job is to get in, get the people out, and leave. If we do it without a shot fired, I consider that a successful mission."

"How're we gonna sneak in a DropShip full of 'Mechs?" Tooriu wanted to know.

"There's a weekly supply ship that the Wolves bring in from Kirchbach. MIIO is arranging for it to be delayed 48 hours. We come in, play like we're the DropShip long enough to get into drop position, then do our thing. We'll lose the element of surprise, but by the time they get the general alarm out, we'll be gone." Sheila paused. "Now I know what you're thinking: aerofighters. I'm not worried about being eyeballed on the way in, since we'll be using the _Minerva_, which is a Clan DropShip. They may jump us on the way out, and that's a problem, since the _Minerva_ can only carry five fighters, and the 7th Battle has fifteen at their disposal.

"But here's the good news. We still have a small base on Inari, Vantaa's outermost moon. The Clans don't know about it yet; that's how we've been getting our info. Last week, the AFFC sent a _Titan-_class fighter carrier DropShip to that base. They'll wait for our signal and warp in fast. _Titans_ only carry six fighters, but they're pretty formidable on their own. With eleven fighters and two DropShips, we should be able to fight our way out if we need to."

Marion looked surprised. "Son of a bitch. It looks like somebody in GHQ actually thought this shit out for once."

"It gets better," Sheila smiled. "We've also been authorized to add another 'Mech to the Snowbirds on temp detachment. It's one of the new _Catapults_ we've been hearing about, the one with the Arrow IV guided artillery missile system. That'll give us some organic artillery support and even a rudimentary surface-to-air missile capability."

"Who's gonna pilot it?" Tooriu asked.

"New guy named Fabian Cynmar. His mom got iced by the Maskirovka in Liao space, so he up and stole one of the prototypes and got off Grand Base through Free Capella." Sheila heard the murmuring. "Yeah—as I know only too damn well, we're not putting a lot of trust in anything remotely associated with Liao right now. That's why Cynmar isn't here. He'll get the go order an hour before we leave, and the SLI will be keeping a close eye on him until we do to make sure he doesn't blab. While we're on Vantaa, _I'll_ be keeping a close eye on him, Max and I, and if he steps out of line we'll kill him stone dead." Sheila put her hands behind her back. "That's the mission in a nutshell. There's not much to it. We'll have a more detailed lance commanders' brief on the _Minerva_ once we raise ship. Any questions?"

"Just one," said O'Reilly. "What happens if we get made on the way in?"

"We'll have to abort the mission. Nothing else. We can't risk taking on a whole Cluster."

"And what if it's a trap? What if it's the Wolves suckerin' us in?"

"I think I can answer that," Senefa spoke up. "I know of Carmin Winson. He is an honorable man. He would not stoop to such a tactic."

"That's assumin' Winson's still in command and intel hasn't ballocks it up yet again," O'Reilly replied hotly. "What if you're wrong, Clanner?"

Sheila opened her mouth to reply to that, but it was Max who spoke first. "What if the Wolves all drop dead of Fronk's Fever? What if the _Minerva_ blows up on the launchpad? What if Sudeten's primary goes nova? We'll never leave at all if we keep taking into account the 'what ifs,' MechWarrior." O'Reilly gave Max a withering stare, but let the matter drop: from the glares she was getting, the Snowbirds did not appreciate the Clanner slur.

"All right then," Sheila concluded. "Any other questions? None? Okay. It's now 0830. Gather your gear and man your 'Mechs. We raise ship at 1200 hours. Better make your goodbyes quick. Dismissed."

The Snowbirds broke up, some rushing off to make hurried farewells to family and friends, others towards their 'Mechs, and some walking slowly out in small groups, talking over the mission. Felisanna still had her arm around Canonizado, saying something about Snowbird 'tradition,' not that such a thing existed yet. O'Reilly nodded at Sheila and Max to let them know her opposition was nothing personal, then lit her cigar, despite the fact that there were No Smoking signs around the 'Mech bay and a stray spark into something flammable would be very bad for all. None came close to Senefa, at first, but then Tooriu loped over, put a beefy arm around the smaller Clanswoman, and began leading her off, talking animatedly about what beer he liked and if Senefa had ever got drunk. He left Sheila with a wink. Kaatha, Elfa, and Nicia lingered behind with Max and Sheila. As Sheila switched off the holotank and wiped its contents from the memory, Kaatha asked, "Sheila, what 'Mech will you be using?"

"Oh, yeah. Damn! I forgot to tell everyone." She thumbed back towards the bay. "Sam Jaggar in Alpha Battalion is letting me borrow his _Warhammer_ until I get a new 'Mech assigned. I suppose Nicia scrapped what was left of my poor _Shruiken._ I trained on a '_Hammer_ simulator on Tharkad." Sheila hoped that less than a month's retraining would be enough. She promised herself to spend every spare moment in the _Warhammer_ on the way to Vantaa. She was far from a hundred percent on her arm, especially in a 'Mech cockpit, and though in theory a MechWarrior could pilot any machine because the basic controls were the same, each 'Mech design had its own quirks, advantages, and disadvantages. Failing to know even the slightest nuance of a 'Mech could be fatal.

Then she noticed them all suddenly grinning at her, except Max. She turned to Max, who shrugged, as mystifed as she was. "That's just unacceptable, isn't it?" Elfa said to Nicia.

"Oh, certainly," Nicia said with mock sorrow. "Can't have a battalion commander borrowing 'Mechs. It's undignified."

"That too. Kaatha?"

Kaatha nodded sagely. "Without a doubt. What would the Clans say? Terribly bad form."

"Okay…what's going on?" Sheila asked.

"Well," Nicia told her, her grin getting larger by the second, "the regiment never did get you a birthday present. Follow me." She waggled a finger at Sheila, who obediently did as ordered.

They walked down the row of 'Mechs, which already had swarms of techs going over them, readying them for departure. Finally, Nicia turned, going between Max's _Battlemaster_ and Chuck Badaxe's _Atlas_.

Hidden from view behind the two gigantic assault 'Mechs was Sheila's _Shruiken._

Sheila stopped and stared. "It's…it's my 'Mech. But how, Senefa blew it to hell in the Valley—" She slapped her forehead. "No, that was only superficial damage. Of course, the Clans had no reason to salvage it."

"Nope. The Fusiliers had pulled back north to consolidate by the time we got there. I had it brought to Cold Harbour and then loaded up when we left Vantaa. That's how I found out that Liao dick had sabotaged your jumpjets." Nicia sighed heavily. "I'll be honest, Sheila. I felt responsible. It was one of _my_ people who got you into that situation, which wouldn't have happened if I'd vetted him better." The smile returned and she looked lovingly up at the 'Mech. "Besides, it was about time for an upgrade anyway. My uncle always said he'd wished he'd made the Mark One heavier."

Sheila walked up to her 'Mech to inspect it. The _Shruiken_ had originally been built as a test vehicle, a proposal from Nicia's uncle Tesla Caii, who worked on the _Wolfhound_ line at TharHes on Tharkad. As the _Wolfhound_ had been built to counter the Kurita _Panther_ light 'Mech, so Tesla Caii had thought that the Federated Commonwealth needed a 'Mech as fast as the Kurita heavy _Dragon_ series. He had proposed upscaling the _Wolfhound_'s basic chassis to sixty tons, the same weight as the _Dragon_, with speed equal to the Kurita design and energy-based armament. This was not only to counter the later _Grand Dragon_, which used a PPC instead of the earlier design's autocannon, but also to make his design independent on supply: a 'Mech with only energy armament was limited only to lubricants and coolant, plus the needs of the pilot. To further stick a finger into the Kurita eye, he named the new design the _Shruiken._ The AFFC liked the idea and ordered six preproduction models. Though it superficially resembled the _Wolfhound,_ the _Shruiken_ was almost twice as large, stockier, and with a slightly altered head design to give the pilot more lateral view, rather than the flat canopy used on the WLF-1 and WLF-2 series. For armament, it had been given a single PPC and seven medium lasers, which many designers—though not Caii—thought was seriously underarming a heavy 'Mech, especially one that already had serious heat problems. Caii had responded by removing a medium laser and some armor in favor of his unique "Shruiken Launcher," which fired two-meter square ceramic stars designed to shatter on impact with an enemy 'Mech, releasing a deadly spray of Inferno napalm when it did.

Unfortunately, the design had failed. By the time the first SHR-1ST walked off the TharHes line in late 3049, its weight had been increased slightly because Tesla had decided it needed heavier armor, an additional PPC, and more heat sinks, though those added were the brand new double heat sink designs. That had also caused it to have its top speed reduced because it needed a smaller engine. Since high speed was the whole point of the design, the AFFC had cancelled it after only the first had been finished and the other two partially completed; even the addition of jumpjets had not saved it, and the unique Shruiken Launcher had been seen as a gimmick by the AFFC. Heartbroken but determined to do something with it, Tesla Caii had given it to his old friend Calla Bighorn-Vlata for a cut rate price, and Calla had presented to his daughter when Sheila had graduated from the Nagelring. When it had been further modified before Vantaa to include a Beagle Active Probe, Tesla's niece Nicia had redesignated it SHR-2ST.

"Looks heavier for some reason," Sheila commented.

"It is," Nicia confirmed. "75 tons rather than 65. We had to put in a bigger engine, so we had to cut back the shoulder plastrons. The torso is wider, too. Notice the profile's changed a bit. That's because this baby is maxed out on armor—14.5 tons worth. Now you can go toe to toe with _Mad Cats_ with a fair chance of surviving." Nicia waved her hand like a magician over the _Shruiken_. "Main armament is still over and under ER-PPCs in the right arm, but secondary array is now four medium pulse lasers. They fire faster and generate more heat, but they're also easier to hit with because of the higher rate of fire, and they hit harder."

"Yeah, I know," Sheila said ruefully, "the Clans have them, remember?"

"Well, you can't match them in range, but you can damn sure hit them more often now. You still have your Shruiken Launcher in the left arm. Now, see those bulges in the chest area?" Sheila nodded. "Now I didn't give your 'Mech tits. Kinda small anyway, compared to yours."

Sheila rolled her eyes. "You're just jealous." Nicia wasn't flat-chested, but she wasn't well-endowed, either.

"Feh. Don't need big ones when you're crawling around hooking up myomers. Just get in the way. Anyhow, the one on the left is your Beagle Probe that you had before, but the one on the right is a Guardian ECM suite."

Max, standing next to them, raised his eyebrows. "That's expensive stuff, Nicia. Where did you get that?"

"It wasn't expensive," Nicia protested. "As to where I got it, let's not talk about that." Max nodded in understanding; the parts were stolen. "Your top end is still the same, 68 kph, and you still have jumpjets with 120 meter capacity. Double heat sinks aplenty." Nicia folded her arms and looked expectantly at Sheila. "Now if that doesn't get your panties wet, what does?"

"You techs are so filthy minded," Elfa sighed.

"It's all the grease they work with," Kaatha quipped.

"What's the bad news?" Sheila asked. Every 'Mech had a disadvantage; no one had yet designed the perfect 'Mech.

"Well…the main reason we had to expand the torso was because we had to put in a GM 300 extra-light engine to replace your old Pitban 285. I stuck that one in Senefa's _Thunderbolt._ The problem with the XL is that it's half the weight of a standard 300, but it's twice as bulky. It's also twice as easy to hit. You won't be able to take quite the pounding you could in the old Mark Two. Felt it was worth it to put on all the extra stuff. The pulse lasers also run hotter, like I said, so you're still gonna have to keep one eye on the heat gauge. As long as you cycle between your PPCs and your pulses, you should be okay." Nicia kicked the foot of the _Shruiken._ "She's the Mark Three, SHR-3ST. You can see I gave her a fresh coat of paint, too." Sheila looked upwards and saw that CLAN EATER II had been stenciled across the left breast, with a row of ten stars beneath to indicate her kills. Nicia made a great show of checking her watch. "I think you need to fire her up and take her out. Time is money, you know."

"Oh sure." Sheila threw her arms around Nicia, though she only came up to the other woman's chest. "Nicia, I love you! You're awesome, simply awesome! This is the best birthday present anyone's ever given me—no offense, Max…"

Max was grinning. "None taken, babe. It does beat that book about Sherman I got you." He tapped the _Shruiken's_ foot appreciatively. "Though if you start spending too much time around this thing and calling it Bonaparte, then I will have to say something."

Sheila laughed and hugged Nicia. "You're awesome, Nicia," she repeated.

"Yeah, yeah…I know." She took Sheila's old battered neurohelmet from Kaatha, who had quietly retrieved it, and handed to her. "But I'm not happy until you turn on the damn thing, so get up there and do it."

"You got it." Sheila gave Elfa and Kaatha hugs as well, kissed Max, and climbed up the steps set into the side of the _Shruiken._ "How are you, old buddy," she whispered reverently, not resisting the urge to plant a kiss on the cold, armored steel of the head. "I missed you too." She opened the hatch and climbed in, then reached behind the seat to retrieve the cooling vest from the small locker there. As she pulled off the jumpsuit she wore, something glinted off the canopy frame. Sheila reached up and gasped in surprise: hanging from the canopy bow was her wedding ring.

On the seat was an envelope. Sheila tore it open to find a note from Senefa inside. It read, _Sheila, I had lied to you. I kept your ring in my quarters on the _Minerva_ as isorla, as a trophy. It was something I never should have done. I hope that you will accept this as an adequate apology. Your friend, Senefa._

Sheila wiped her eyes and put the ring around her neck on its thin chain. "Damn Clanners," she sniffed. "Always have to have the last word."


	10. Video Lupum

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ahh. I can't resist a cliffhanger, so you get a short 'n' sweet one today. _

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: SulliMike: No fair cutting and pasting your last review! ;)_

_FraserMage: I may have to post the stats for the _Shruiken_ at some point. The Snowbirds will get their tank company in the next story arc._

_4477: I don't know: A) tea and crumpets, B) Trial of Grievance, or C) yuri._

_GreenKnight: Yeah, I figured you'd like that. Hopefully it speeds your recovery. As for your questions, the Snowbirds will only be gone for about two weeks on Vantaa, so the gains outweigh the risks; read this chapter; Chuck Badaxe hasn't lost anything (he's a rich guy with a cute girlfriend and an _Atlas_; he's doing okay for himself), he just doesn't like Senefa; and yes, the _Shruiken_ is basically just a big _Wolfhound._ That's because that was the mini I modified to look like her 'Mech._

_Kat: thanks. Haven't quite tied all the loose ends yet, though._

_STORY SOUNDTRACK: "Spaceship in the Dark" from the _Project A-ko_ soundtrack and "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival._

* * *

_SDS _Minerva, _Lagrange Point Alpha_

_Vantaa, Clan Wolf Occupied Zone_

_6 September 3051_

"What is it, Captain?" Sheila and Max walked onto the spacious bridge of the _Minerva._

Captain Rob Baron turned around in his command chair. "Hi, Commander. I thought I'd better have you up here. We may have problems." He got up and walked over to the communications console.

"Uh oh." They walked over to join the _Minerva's_ captain. Since Baron didn't have anywhere else to go and requested to stay with the Sentinels, and in recognition of his bravery in the Sharpsburg escape, Calla Bighorn-Vlata had promoted him to captain of the Sentinels' new DropShip. He had been working hard to get the _Minerva_ in good shape since, and as far as Sheila could tell, had done a great job. Vantaa was still most of a day away, but it was already dominating the viewports forward. While it did not look as sinister as stormy Twycross, it still looked less than inviting. As Max had said, Vantaa was a planet best left forgotten. "What kind of problems?" Sheila asked.

"We just got a message from Clan Wolf Planetary Command. They want to speak to the 'commander of our unit.' That's not normal for just routine landing clearance. We're stalling them, but that's not going to last much longer."

"Oh, shit," Max said.

"There goes our surprise attack," Sheila sighed.

"In case I can't bluff them, I figured I might need you." Baron handed a headset to Sheila, motioned her away from the visual pickup, and pressed the talk button. "This is Captain Jaime of DropShip _Eagle._ We are a merchant contract ship operating from Kirchbach on a scheduled run. What can I do for you, Command?"

"This is Star Colonel Carmin Winson, commanding, 7th Battle Cluster." The picture on the screen was of a short, muscular man with gray hair and blue eyes. Sheila didn't like those eyes: they were those of a killer. "I am requesting _batchall_ with the commander of your unit, Captain."

Baron put a confused look on his face. "Sir, I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about. I have no 'Mechs aboard. I am carrying ammunition and spare battlesuits from Kirchbach. My orders were given—"

Winson rolled his eyes. "You are not Captain Jaime."

"Sir, of course I am Captain Jaime," Baron replied, sounding increasingly desperate. "Have we met, sir?"

"On several occasions, most recently in my quarters," Winson told them. "Captain Jaime is a woman and a very good friend of mine. For her sake, and yours, I hope nothing has happened to her."

Sheila covered her mouth while Max covered his eyes. Baron looked to them helplessly. Sheila whispered, "Well, that's it," and leaned forward, into the visual pickup. "Star Colonel Winson, this is Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata of the Snowbirds Special Missions Combined Arms Team, Sentinels RCAT. Sorry about the subterfuge—your Captain Jaime is safe; she's on Kirchbach. You were requesting _batchall,_ sir?"

Winson's face lit up with what looked to be a genuine smile. "Ah, Commander Arla-Vlata. I have heard of you. How is your arm? Healed, quiaff?"

_One big happy family,_ Max mouthed at her, and Sheila smiled wryly. "It's fine, Star Colonel. We're here for the Vantaa Rangers. Perhaps you would like to fight a Trial of Possession for them?"

"The Rangers?" Winson nodded. "I see. Are they leaving Vantaa, then?"

"Yes."

Winson shrugged. "No Trial will be necessary, Commander. You are free to take them with you, provided you are onplanet no longer than 48 hours."

Sheila's eyebrows rose nearly to her hair. "Star Colonel, you mean to tell me you don't want to fight?"

Winson shook his head. "Commander, it should come to you as no surprise that my unit took significant casualties fighting the 10th Donegal Guards. I have taken further casualties to the Rangers. My orders are to evict them from our supply routes, and with you, that mission has been fufilled. Let them fight with honor on another field. I am granting them _hegira_—are you familiar with the term?"

"Yes." Sheila remembered it from Jaime Wolf's briefing. Hegira was a Clan term granting honorable retreat without further combat. The giver of hegira was acknowledged as the victor of the battle. "You must forgive me if I don't believe you, Star Colonel."

"Of course—but please realize, Commander, that I am no Jade Falcon. My word is my bond. Take the Rangers and depart Vantaa, in peace. I have no desire to take further casualties to my unit at this point in time. This is not a trap, quiaff? I would lose a great deal of equipment and manpower in destroying the Snowbirds."

Sheila put a hand over the microphone. "Get Senefa and Elfa up here," she whispered to Max. He saluted and was gone. "Allow me a moment to consult with my officers, Star Colonel."

"Certainly. Take all the time you need." Winson leaned back in a chair, looking entirely content.

Baron switched off the mike feed. "He can't be serious," he told Sheila. "A Clanner, refusing a fight?"

"It's weird to me, too. The bastard's up to something." They waited another minute or two before Max returned with Senefa and Elfa. Sheila quickly explained it. Elfa blinked thrice in pure amazement. Senefa looked at Winson's picture on the screen—he couldn't see her yet—and then to Sheila. "He is not lying, Sheila," the Clanswoman said. "Carmin Winson is known among the Wolves as being something of a maverick, but very honorable."

"Is he a Warden?" Sheila asked. Senefa replied with a nod. "Elfa, you think it's a trap?"

Elfa thought about it for a long moment. "Maybe not, Sheila. He's probably not looking forward to hunting the Rangers on their own home ground, in those second-growth forests in the Valley. The locals hate the Clans' guts. He could be sitting on that rock for years tracking them down. _I_ wouldn't want to do it. We come along and offer to take the Rangers off his hands, and it's a win-win situation for him. He gets rid of the Rangers and he doesn't lose any more people in the process."

"And by granting us hegira, he can say he has beaten the Snowbirds," Senefa added, though she looked less than happy about pointing that out. _She probably wants to fight the Wolves._

"I don't care if he tells his Clan buddies that he pissed on our battalion flag," Sheila said. "As far as I'm concerned, we get the Rangers off Vantaa and we win. Any chance he could go back on it, Senefa—maybe let his aerofighters ambush us?"

"Not and retain his honor."

That was good enough for Sheila. She reached forward and switched the feed back on. "All right, Star Colonel, you have a deal. We'll land at Lynchburg DropPort and bring in the Rangers. Do you have any forces there?"

"I do—two Stars of Elementals. I will evacuate them, say, ten kilometers north, quiaff? To avoid any unpleasant entanglements."

"That sounds fine. Bargained well and done, Star Colonel." Sheila decided it couldn't hurt to use the formal Clan acceptance. "I will communicate with you in twelve hours to update you on our progress."

"Bargained well and done." Winson also used the formal reply. "Twelve hours then, Commander. I will clear all traffic from your lane." The image derezzed into static.

"We're either incredibly lucky or he's one hell of a poker player," Max remarked. "Just when I think I've seen everything in this screwy war."

"I still don't like it," Baron said, taking off his headset. "Too easy, Commander. How do we know he won't pop us with aerofighters on the burn-in, or have a whole Cluster waiting for us at the DropPort?"

"Take him too long to deploy the whole Cluster. Anyway, we're not going to find out. It's only going to take us three hours or so to load up the Rangers. If he knew they were at Greenbriar, he'd have a hell of a lot more Elementals in Lynchburg. I'll call him when we've cleared atmosphere on the way home."

"Still don't like it," Baron repeated. "Not having a whole battalion aboard and a sitting duck until we land."

"We won't be. The plan still stands." Sheila turned to her officers. "We're still doing a combat drop. Winson may be telling the truth, but to paraphrase King Prias, I fear the Wolves even when they bring gifts."

* * *

Star Colonel Carmin Winson turned in his chair at his command post, a smile on his lips. "Well, Star Captain? What do you think?"

Star Captain Edwina Carns smiled back. "Well played, Star Colonel." She leaned against the console, looking at the holotank. On it was an expanded map of the area from the Massanutten Valley to Cold Harbour, with blue circles indicating where Wolf units were. Red dots indicated where contact had been made with the Vantaa Rangers, usually when the latter opened fire on Clan supply convoys. "We do not have to hunt the Rangers down, giving us time to rest before the offensive starts in the fall. We do not have to fight on the enemy's terms." Carns reached out and zoomed in on another long valley, the Cumberland, south of Lynchburg. "I noticed you did not inform Commander Arla-Vlata of the presence of the 133rd Falcon Fusiliers." A green circle lay in the Cumberland Valley like a dragon's egg. The 133rd was the last Jade Falcon unit left on Vantaa, obstensibly to police up any Clan salvage or Inner Sphere stragglers that rightfully belonged to the Jade Falcons. In reality, both Winson and Khan Ulric Kerensky suspected that saKhan Cavell Malthus was leaving the Fusiliers there as punishment, a reminder to the Cluster of the dishonor of their former commander, Senefa. Winson felt sorry for the Fusiliers; he had found their new commander, Athena Henderson, irascible and crude, befitting a woman known even among the Clans as the Butcher of Front Royal. While the Fusiliers' mission was only to have taken a month or less, Henderson had been dragging her feet, obviously waiting for an opening to attack the Wolves. Winson was sure that when Dwillt Radick's 16th Battle Cluster would be redeployed for the coming offensive in a few weeks, Henderson would make her move.

"Neg. Why should I?"

"It does seem somewhat dishonorable."

"True…but Arla-Vlata did use false colors, and she will undoubtedly still make a combat drop. I see no reason to squander a perfect opportunity to watch our enemies kill each other." He turned to a tech. "Please get me Star Colonel Athena Henderson at Charlotte." He grinned at Carns.


	11. The Best Laid Plans

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Okay. This was getting way too long, so before I get to the big 'Mech fight (next chapter, I promise), I had to lay down the groundwork._

_ I don't know if a combat drop has ever been written about in a Battletech novel, so I kind of had to guess. I know drop packs have jumpjets for those 'Mechs that don't have them, but I figured that wouldn't be enough to slow them down. _

_ Since it's kind of hard to draw a map via text, if you're curious as to where everyone is on a map, bring up Google Earth or Google Maps, or your handy road atlas, and focus on western Virginia. I swapped the names of the cities of Roanoke and Lynchburg, but mostly everything else is the same. Cold Harbour is Richmond (the real Cold Harbor is just northeast of the city), and Greenbrier would be located roughly about the same spot as the little town of Montvale, VA. Of course, the distances are much longer. _

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: 4477: Heh heh heh._

_Kat: Senefa is a bit of both: she's very idealistic (that's why she left the Jade Falcons) and a bit naïve. _

_Green Knight (or his sister): Thank you for the kind words. As to why the _Shruiken_ uses an XL engine instead of Endo-Steel, the Sentinels can't manufacture Endo-Steel, which in 3049 (when the SHR-1ST was built) was very uncommon. Ferro-Fibrous armor doesn't save enough weight. As for Bien's _Victor_, I have some ideas._

_Panzerfaust and Fraser: Clanfolk are smart. Anybody can beat a stupid opponent. You can have the best equipment in the world and still lose. As for Winson, I don't think he has too much to worry about…Athena, on the other hand…_

_Mosin: I liked writing Winson as a sneaky bastard. Natasha Kerensky would've been better, but everyone knows she's sneaky; Sheila would've turned around on the spot if the Black Widow had come up on the screen. (Luckily, she's back on Strana Mechty.) I go into more detail as to why the Fusiliers bore the brunt of Cavell Malthus' wrath. Like Romano and Bonner, he couldn't get who he wanted, so he went after the next best thing…_

_SulliMike: Yeah, I know you didn't cut and paste. Just giving ya some heck._

_STORY SOUNDTRACK: "The Final Countdown" by Europe; "Contradanza" by Vanessa-Mae; the theme from "She Wore a Yellow Ribbon." I likes me some old John Wayne flicks. (Oh, and the song Sheila references is "Invincible" by Pat Benetar.)_

_SDS _Minerva

_Vantaa, Clan Wolf Occupation Zone_

_6 September 3051_

"Max, I've got a problem," Sheila told her husband.

"What's that?"

"I think the butterflies in my stomach just turned into aerofighters."

Max laughed and hugged his wife. "Ah, Sheila, don't worry about it. I don't think we're going to run into opposition at all."

"You believe Winson?"

"Sure."

"Hm." Sheila shrugged. "I'm actually more worried about the drop. Nothing like climbing into 75 tons of steel and throwing it out into open air. Whee."

"We've done it before," Max reassured her.

"Yeah, in training."

"No difference." Max kissed her forehead as she faced him. Three blasts from a horn was followed by an announcement from Captain Baron for the MechWarriors to man their 'Mechs. "Well, that's it."

"Yes." Sheila stood on her tiptoes to kiss Max, her hands snaking up behind his head to pull him to you. They held the kiss for a long time, knowing this could be their last. As Sheila started to get a little too passionate, Max broke the kiss and whispered, "You'd better stop before I blow it off."

Sheila laughed and gave him a peck on the nose. Both of them were clad in the light MechWarrior uniform—helmet padding, cooling vest, shorts, boots, and nothing else. It didn't leave much to the imagination. Slowly, they left each other, and then Sheila turned away and ran to her 'Mech, not looking back. Max sighed and went off to his own machine.

* * *

As techs worked to disconnect the umbilicals and hoses that connected the _Shruiken_ to the DropShip, Sheila climbed the ladder as fast as she could. She sealed the hatch behind her, wincing as her ears popped from pressurization, and strapped into her seat. Her hands flew over the switches, bringing the BattleMech to life. Her artificial arm was responding well; she was able to do most things without trouble. The real litmus test was coming: combat. Sheila had practiced every chance she could, but her arm still wasn't responding as fast as a real one would. A half-second slow could get her killed, but there was no point in worrying about that now. She put on her neurohelmet, connected the radio leads to the seat, then plugged in the cooling vest. She steeled herself as the supercooled liquid raced through the hoses on the vest, which felt very much like someone was dropping ice cubes down her bra. The feeling passed soon enough and Sheila squirmed around, trying to find her comfort zone in the seat. Remembering something, she reached over and flipped two switches, arming the explosive charges that would blow the _Shruiken_'s head free of the torso should she have to eject.

She pushed a red button on the instrument panel. The _Shruiken's_ computer came to life, and in her earphones she heard its voice. It was flat and toneless, but Sheila always thought it sounded like Nicia Caii anyway. "_Shruiken_ 003 online. Proceed with voice identification."

"Sheila Allegra Arla-Vlata."

"Voiceprint confirmed. Authorization code."

"We can't afford to be innocent," Sheila said clearly, "stand up and face the enemy." Every MechWarrior used their own personal code to keep someone from stealing their 'Mech. Sheila used one from an old song.

"Code confirmed. Welcome aboard, Sheila. Let's kick some ass." It was somewhat immature, but Sheila always felt a thrill when her computer gave its rote reply, programmed in by Nicia. She reverently patted the instrument panel. The Heads-Up Display switched on, displaying pertinent information on the windscreen along with golden crosshairs. She moved the arms around and found they worked fine, though the left arm was too stiff. _Oh well,_ Sheila thought, _the only weapon I have in there are my shruikens. Shouldn't need those…I hope._

She keyed the radio. "Snowbird to Homeplate. How am I reading?"

"Five square, Snowbird. Assume jump positions."

"Roger that." Sheila pushed down gently on the pedals, and the _Shruiken_ began walking forward. It moved smoothly enough, even in the increasing buffeting of the DropShip as it began penetrating Vantaa's stratosphere. She moved her head around, causing the 'Mech to do the same, and saw that her lance was moving out. She gave them a quick wave—jerky though it was—with her left arm, then walked the short distance to the drop tunnel. As commander, she would be the first out. The buffeting increased, to the point where Sheila had to put an arm out to anchor the _Shruiken_ in the tunnel. "Getting a bit of turbulence here, Snowbird," Baron told her. "Hold on."

Sheila only nodded, despite the fact that Baron couldn't see her. The old fear crawled back up inside and took up residence in her stomach. She felt cold sweat break out over her skin and her legs began to tremble. _Oh God, not again,_ she thought in terror. She thought that after the torture session, she would fear nothing again, but now she was suddenly on the verge of a panic attack.

"Drop in ten seconds, stand by, Snowbirds." The buffeting smoothed out, but Sheila couldn't stop trembling. "Five seconds…"

_Stop shaking!_ Sheila yelled at herself.

"Four…"

The _Minerva's_ launch door slid open. Two steps down the tunnel, barely twenty paces for a man, lay nothing but clouds and blue sky. They were at 55,000 feet and descending.

"Three…"

"Come on, come on…" Sheila wondered if her trembling was fear or excitement.

"Two…"

Swallowing, Sheila braced the 'Mech against the sides of the tunnel. The wind howled through the door.

"One."

_God be with us._

"Drop, drop, drop!" Baron exclaimed. The red light next to the door switched to green.

Some MechWarriors took a running start out the launch chute, but Sheila just let the _Shruiken_ fall forward. Instantly, the slipstream grabbed her and threw her out and away from the _Minerva_. She quickly moved all four limbs at once, getting the 'Mech into the fall position, legs fully extended and arms held out, bent slightly, face down, the same way a human paratrooper would do it. Since her 'Mech had more wind resistance and less velocity than the DropShip, it accelerated past her like a metal cliff. As she watched, 'Mechs began to stream out of the four jump doors by lances: Kaatha's _Griffin,_ Marcus Drax's _Phoenix Hawk_, and Felisanna's _Wolfhound_ all appeared below her. No sort of formation was attempted or was even feasible. The entire drop took seven minutes to complete: now there were 29 'Mechs falling through the sky, spread out over 15,000 feet of altitude.

Now came the tough part. Getting out of the DropShip, as Sheila's Nagelring instructor had told her, was as easy as falling off your bicycle. Now the problem was one of simple Newtonian physics: finding some way of slowing down 75 tons of falling BattleMech that was traveling at several hundred feet a second. Luckily, Sheila did not have to worry about either of the twin terrors of MechWarriors in combat drops: bad weather and enemy Aerofighters. No sane MechWarrior dropped into anything but the mildest rainstorm: a thunderstorm would at best throw a 'Mech hopelessly off course for the drop zone and at worst literally tear it apart in high winds and lightning strikes. What all MechWarriors hated was the fact that they were completely helpless in the drop. There was no way to dodge and even firing their weapons could throw them off and send them into a lethal spin. It was easy pickings for any enterprising enemy fighters; fighter pilots dreamed of such easy kills. Sheila knew the Snowbirds had launched their five fighters earlier and that they were out there, but it was a pitifully few number against what the Wolves could put up. The only other consolation was that it was an atmospheric drop. A suborbital drop sealed the 'Mechs inside metal cocoons that protected them from being burned up, but sometimes those cocoons failed, or the DropShip got the vector wrong: too steep and the cocoon burned up anyway, along with the 'Mech; too shallow and the 'Mech skipped across the atmosphere and was flung into orbit. Usually in that case the MechWarrior ran out of air before a rescue could be mounted. Those that survived became charter members of the Hopscotch Club, an international fraternity of MechWarriors, but it was an exclusive club no MechWarrior really wanted to be part of.

She fell through scattered cirrus, which would've been actually quite beautiful if she wasn't terrified. To her surprise, she saw Kaatha put her _Griffin_ through a complete somersault, the old veteran showing off. Luckily none of the newer MechWarriors tried to emulate her. Her computer beeped for her attention, and showed she was passing through 15,000 feet: now she could see the ground rushing up to meet her. Green carpets of forest stretched out all around her; in the far distance was a range of mountains and closer, the Massanutten Valley. She had no desire to see that again. Fortunately, the dropzone was easy to see: a small airstrip just south of Greenbrier village. Even better, one of the Rangers had set smoke pots at either end of the zone, which sent orange smoke drifting among the trees and giving the MechWarriors a sense of the wind direction. It was blowing to the north. Her computer beeped again and a counter appeared on her HUD. Sheila tightened her straps and braced.

Attached to the back of all the 'Mechs was a block of metal. Doors burst open and a huge expanse of nylon burst forth, held in place by myomer cables. The nylon rapidly unfolded into a parachute with a shock that sent Sheila back against her seat, hard. The straps kept her in place. The _Shruiken_ was jerked upright. She quickly looked around and saw good chutes on everyone in sight; another terror for dropping MechWarriors was a streamer or no chute at all. At that point it was best to eject and let the 'Mech take its chances when it hit the ground. Still, several yards of nylon was not going to slow down 75 tons very well, so when the altimeter counted past 6000 feet, Sheila stomped down on the pedals. Her jumpjets fired, plasma vented from the engine. She was pressed into the seat with the force of five times Terran normal gravity, but her velocity slowed nicely. Sheila abruptly realized she was off course, about a mile north of the zone, and heading for the trees, but there was nothing for it--the chute wasn't steerable. The _Shruiken_ still came down easily enough, crashing through the trees and alighting on the ground without falling over. Sheila flipped a switch that blew the parachute pack off the back of the 'Mech, got her bearings, and started heading for the dropzone. As she did so, she kept an eye on the sky. The last thing she needed was having a 'Mech fall on her.

The rest of the Snowbirds came down on the dropzone without incident, though a few fell over when they landed, to minor damage and major cursing. Though they came down widely separated, each lance had a rally point and made towards it. Radio messages were tightbeamed to each other, and finally the battalion looked to be ready. All the lance commanders checked in with Sheila and Elfa, and then Elfa reported that her company was ready. "No stragglers?" Sheila asked.

"None."

That was good to hear. "Okay, Brownoak, move out and take the DropPort. You run into trouble, call."

"Roger that. Out." Elfa's _Loki_ waved one of its arms at Sheila, then towards the west. Her twelve 'Mechs formed up behind her in a wedge. Both Tooriu in his _Awesome_ and Senefa in her _Thunderbolt_ raised their arms as they went past as well. When they were gone, Sheila felt a little lonely. "Tiger One to Snowbird..recommend we move out," Marion prompted.

"Yeah…roger. Let's go." They left the airfield and moved north.

* * *

It was mostly forest until they reached Greenbriar. Despite the 'Mechs making enough noise to wake the dead by crashing through the woods, it was still eerily quiet. Even the major roads they passed were empty. On several occasions, Sheila raised her 'Mech's hand to call a halt, so that she could listen on her external headphones. There was nothing. Her Beagle Probe she kept on as well, but it also turned up nothing. After half an hour, they broke from the woods and reached an open plain. The village of Greenbrier, with an imposing castle-like hotel in the distance, lay ahead—but there was no recognition signal. It was still very quiet.

"Thorn, Snowbird, move forward, skirmish formation," Sheila ordered. Tessya's Recon Lance broke from the main group, spread out, and moved forward in a line—Tessya's _Wasp,_ Philip Scott's _Valkyrie,_ Megan O'Reilly's _Wolfhound,_ and Frederick Matria's much-modified _Chameleon._ Max's Heavy Lance took up position on the right, with Marion's Assaults on the left; Sheila's Command Lance waited behind. Sheila stole a glance at the squat _Catapult_ next to her. She had finally met Fabian Cynmar, the Liao expatriate, two days before. He was tall, stringy, and had something of a hunted look about him, which was understandable, considering what he had done to House Liao. Now she was less worried about him being a traitor or spy as she was him locking up in combat. Still, he had done well in the drop and easily maintained the pace, despite the fact that his 'Mech lacked arms and had to shoulder its way through the forest. He had the door open on the starboard missile pod, exposing the five snouts of the huge Arrow IV artillery missiles; the port pod held the guidance array.

"Thorn Four. Movement, right flank." All weapons instantly trained to Matria's right. It was a jeep, moving out from behind a building. It stopped in clear view, then a figure in the back stood and began frantically waving the fist-and-sunburst flag of the Federated Commonwealth. Sheila waved back. "Thorn, move into the town. Tiger and I will back you up. Canis, I want you to swing east and come in on their flank, just in case." Max acknowledged and moved in that direction. Sheila cautiously moved forward, licking dry lips: it would be all to easy to be ambushed here.

She needn't have worried. Though the town was still mostly silent, save for a few inhabitants staring at the 'Mechs as they went past, the Greenbrier Hotel's courtyard erupted into cheers when the Snowbirds came into view, people frantically waving both FedCom flags and the green-and-yellow St. Andrew's cross flags of Vantaa. Sheila noticed the trenches and heavy weapons emplacements around the hotel: such a defense would not hold long, but the Vantaa Rangers had obviously decided that, if they couldn't be rescued, they would die fighting.

Sheila's _Shruiken_ was mobbed by people as soon as she brought it to a halt. She climbed down and was practically dragged off her 'Mech by a cheering mob who carried her on their shoulders around the circular courtyard, as if she was a conquering heroine. Sheila was embarrassed more than exhilarated, but all the Snowbirds were being treated as liberators. The women were showering the Snowbirds' male MechWarriors with kisses and hugs, and Sheila felt a pang of jealousy at the sight of Max being glomped by several girls not yet out of their teens.

Finally, she was deposited in front of the hotel, where a beaming red-haired man rushed out and pumped her right hand mercilessly. "Commander Arla-Vlata?" he shouted over the din.

"That's me," Sheila yelled back.

"Thank God you're here. Come inside, please." Sheila did as she was asked. It was unseasonably warm outside; Vantaa was supposed to be in winter. Inside was pleasant and cool and certainly less crowded. As they walked through the revolving door, Sheila was surprised to find six officers drawn up in a line. All snapped to attention and saluted with crisp, parade-ground style fashion. Sheila returned the salute, feeling remarkably dumpy: the Rangers were in immaculate uniforms with creases so sharp they could cut, whereas she was sweaty, tired, and basically half-naked. "It's good to see you Commander," the redhead said. "I don't think we've formally met. My name is Major John Keynes. I was on the rescue mission, but you were pretty out of it when we boarded the _Minerva._"

"Then I should be the one thanking you," Sheila told him. She thumbed back towards the crowd. "What's all this about?"

"You're liberating us," Keynes replied.

"No, no," Sheila corrected, "we're rescuing you. We can't liberate Vantaa with an understrength battalion."

"We know," Keynes said, "but you don't understand. The last three months have been hellish. The Clans…well, the Wolves haven't been brutal, mind, and more or less correct in their behavior, but they're still invaders. They still forced people from their homes to barrack their own troops. The Jade Falcons have been relatively quiet, but we'll never forgive them for Front Royal."

"Wait." Sheila held up a hand. "The Jade Falcons are still on Vantaa?"

"Yes. They've been mainly operating around Charlotte. They haven't moved against us—the Wolves have massed around Cold Harbour." Keynes smiled. "We heard that Winson gave you free passage. That's what set off the party."

"How did you know that?"

Keynes' smile grew wider. "He used the telephone lines to tell the small Elemental garrison in Lynchburg to pull back. Seems he didn't really want to fight us. He also doesn't know we've got every line between his commands and the 16th Battle down in Rissala tapped."

_Something's not adding up,_ Sheila thought. _Winson's no fool. He would figure out pretty quick that the Rangers would tap the telephones. Hell, they taught that to us at the Nagelring: assume that, on an enemy planet, that every major communications network has been compromised. Either he wanted the Rangers to know we were on our way, which makes sense, or something else..._ "What Jade Falcon units are still onplanet?" Sheila asked.

Keynes' face turned angry. "The Butchers of Front Royal—the 133rd Falcon Fusiliers. We'd like to see some justice meted out—"

"Winson!" Sheila shouted. "That Wolf son of a bitch!" She instantly turned and headed out the doors, then stopped just short. "Major, get your people ready to go, _now!_"

"But the Wolves—they granted hegira, which we know is—"

"Yes! The _Wolves_ did! Winson's suckered us both—he's got the Falcons doing his dirty work! You can bet the next thing he did was to _radio_ the Fusiliers to tell us where we are. How far is Charlotte from here?"

"About 160 kilometers."

"Shit!" If the Fusiliers moved fast, they could be at Greenbrier in three hours. Winson had obviously waited some time after he had talked to Sheila, because the Jade Falcons would have been waiting for them otherwise. _Unless they were…_ Sheila ran out the door. Her eyes frantically searched the crowd and found Frederick Matria, who was sitting on his 'Mech, drinking a beer. Sheila forced her way through the still-partying Rangers and climbed up the _Chameleon's_ side. Matria saw her coming and quickly put the beer away. "Sorry, boss lady, it was just one beer—"

"Never mind that! Did Elfa make it to Lynchburg?"

"Sure. She checked in just a few minutes ago. Took the DropPort without a shot. The _Minerva's_ already there."

"Correct passwords and countersigns?"

"Absolutely. Why?"

Sheila breathed a sigh of relief. Elfa hadn't been ambushed, and there was no way the Falcons, even if they had captured her, could have broken her that quickly. She slapped Matria's knee. "Fred, get on the horn and tell her all around defense, now."

"What the hell's going on?"  
"The Wolves played us like a fucking violin, that's what's going on. Tell everyone that's still in their 'Mechs to stay there. Orders are coming. As soon as you've done that, grab your pack and meet me at the front door to the hotel. Go!" Sheila climbed back down the rope ladder and dropped the last fifteen feet to the ground. People instantly began to mob her, and she yelled for quiet. Gradually, the din died down. "Listen to me!" she shouted. "There's a Jade Falcon Cluster on its way, and it could be here any minute!" There was an audible, collective gasp at that, as well as screams. "Rangers, report to your company commanders! Snowbird officers on me! MechWarriors, man your 'Mechs! Everyone else, clear out! _Move!"_ As soon as she had said it, Sheila regretted it, but luckily no one panicked, or if they did, they did so in a generally orderly fashion. The festive air dissipated like fog on a summer morning. Sheila easily made her way through the crowd now. Already, Max, Tessya, and Marion were waiting at the steps to the hotel's front door. So was Keynes. "Listen," she told the Ranger, "I don't know how much time we have, if any. The other half of the battalion's taken the DropPort with no resistance, so the Falcons aren't in Lynchburg—"

"We'd know it if they were," Keynes interrupted. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Listen, Commander. We've got friends scattered all over this area. I've already got men on the phones. We should know within half an hour where the Falcons are."

"We may not have half an hour…but thanks. In the meantime, get your men organized. You have transportation already ready, right?" Keynes nodded. "Okay, good. Get them to the trucks or whatever, and prepare to move out. We leave in ten minutes. Anyone who isn't ready gets left behind. Read me?"

Keynes shook his head frantically. "Commander, we have to load these people too!" He motioned at the crowd.

"_What?_"

"They're our families." He pointed at a rather attractive woman in her mid-thirties, also with red hair, who had two twin girls literally holding onto her skirt. Sheila recognized them, having seen them in the crowd: the kids had run up to Marcus Drax and nearly buried him in flowers. "That's my wife Anna and my daughters Louisa and Maritsa. I'm not leaving them."

"Oh my God." Sheila put a hand to a rapidly aching forehead. "Do you have transportation for them, too?"

"Of course. Plenty. Enough even for our luggage…though we had planned to make several trips…" Keynes' voice trailed off. "Can you get that many people aboard an _Overlord_-class?"

Sheila looked to Marion, who had more experience in this sort of thing. She spit out a cherry pit. "Yeah, even the luggage. Cargo bay's empty. But we don't have time, and I'm already not too keen on shepherding all these people through Indian country!"

Sheila shook her head. "Tell everyone to leave anything they can't carry on their backs. Luggage, computers, everything stays behind. Even the heavy weapons. Small arms only—SRM launchers are okay, but nothing bigger."

"We've got crew-served autocannons out there; they can be hooked up to the trucks—"

"There's no time, dammit!" Sheila's temper snapped. "For all we know, the fucking Falcons are coming over the hill right now! Major, you have your orders. If you want your family to live through this, you'll get to obeying them! Clear?"

"Yes, Commander," Keynes said in a subdued voice. Sheila stabbed a finger towards the hotel, dismissing him even as she turned her back on him. "Frackencrack," she said quietly, as soon as Keynes was out of earshot. "Like we've got the time for that shit." Sheila took a deep breath. "Okay, Marion, Tess, Max. We've got to plan our way out of this."

Marion nodded. "Elfa's in good shape. She's got a full company and the _Minerva's_ guns, plus two platoons of SLI. She can hold the DropPort for awhile, especially if the locals decide to pitch in."

"They won't," Max said. "Not after Front Royal. They'll recognize the 'Mechs and that damn banshee emblem." He chuckled wryly at Sheila. "It's a shame Senefa's not here. She'd be pretty happy about this."

"She probably will be. Damn Winson! I knew this was too easy." Matria came pounding up to them, puffing. Once he had gotten his breath, he said, "Elfa's got your orders. She says just holler if you need the fighters. She'll hold until relieved."

"Bless Elfa anyway," Tessya grinned. She knelt and unfolded a map. "Way I see it, we've got two choices to get to Lynchburg. Either Highway 227, which is a straight shot, or south on Highway 122 and cut west on Secondary Road 24 into the city…" She paused as Keynes returned. He looked at the map, bent down, and quickly circled a dot on the map with a pencil. "We just heard from one of our people," he told them. "The Fusiliers are here, at Bedford. He says he's been watching them for the past hour. They got into Bedford a few hours ago."

"Not good," Max observed. "That's only ten kilometers off." He rubbed his chin. "Sheila, that doesn't make any sense. They would've seen us drop. Ten kilometers is a half-hour march, even for an assault 'Mech at a walk. They'd be here by now—they would've gotten here before us."

"What's their positions? Are they all concentrated there?" Sheila asked Keynes.

"Not according to our guy." At her raised eyebrow, he reassured her, "I've known this man for ten years, Commander. I trust him. He wouldn't rat us out."

"Not what I'm worried about, but go on."

"He says that the Fusiliers also have 'Mechs here and here." He circled two towns north and south of Bedford, Thaxton and Moneta. Sheila looked closer, traced the map briefly with her fingers, then looked up at her commanders. All of them began to smile. "What?" Keynes asked.

"Nothing, Major. Seems Carmin Winson of the Wolves is a bigger SOB than I gave him credit for. Did you Rangers hole up in Roanoke for awhile?" At Keynes' nod, Sheila actually had to laugh softly. "That bastard. He told the Falcons the wrong place." Max sniffed a laugh, Tessya snickered, and Marion let out a whoop.

"I don't get it." Keynes looked thoroughly confused.

"If your man is right, then the Fusiliers are drawn up in all-around defense. They're expecting us to come east to pull you people out of _Roanoke,_ not Greenbrier."

"But they saw the Snowbirds drop! We watched you come down!"

"Yep. And now the Falcons are wondering why we haven't hit them." Sheila looked skyward. "That's not going to last. Do we know who's the new commander of the Fusiliers?"

Keynes was grim. "I'd thought that was plain. Star Colonel Athena Henderson."

At the mention of her name, Sheila felt her arm twitch, this time in remembered pain. She felt her face flush, and the beginnings of rage—of what Sheila had promised herself slipping in and out of consciousness in the Sharpsburg prison, or the _Minerva_, or the hospital on Tharkad: that someday, somehow, Athena would pay. _Stop it,_ she told herself. _Didn't killing Bonner teach you a lesson? You didn't feel good then, did you?_

_Bonner didn't abuse me,_ she answered herself. Even now, Sheila heard Athena's mocking laughter, the slaps, the agony of the ropes, the terror that the drugs had induced, and worst of all, the despair that it was all just the beginning, that this would be her world, and she would never see her husband again. Bonner had conspired to set her up and deliver her to the Falcons, but Athena had taken sadistic pleasure in driving Sheila insensate with pain. She took a deep breath to get control of herself. Max was staring worriedly at her.

"Sure would be nice to repay that bitch in her own coin," Tessya said.

"Yeah. But not here." Sheila turned to Keynes. "Henderson's a devil, but she's not stupid. She'll have fighters up before long, if she doesn't already." Sheila looked skyward: the clouds had thickened slightly, promising moisture later, but they were thin enough that a fighter could be lurking there even now—and infrared sensors could penetrate even that. "She'll figure it out quick enough that the Wolves have snookered her."

Sheila flipped over the map, took the pencil from Keynes, and made a quick sketch. "We've got four lances. Tessya, I want you out front as skirmishers. Max, we'll put you in on the south flank. I'll take the north. Marion, you bring up the rear. I'll detach Marcus Drax in his _P-Hawk_ to your lance. That'll give us Beagle Probe everywhere but the south flank, but Max, it's mostly rolling hills south. You should be able to see them if they hit us from that direction. The trucks will be in the center. We'll have to maintain a speed of around fifty kph—Tessya, you can move ahead a bit, but don't lose the convoy. In case the bitch tries to have her aerofighters strafe our ass, we'll have to stick close to give overlapping fields of fire. No fighter jock is going to strafe a bunch of trucks if it means hanging it out to get shot off by sixteen 'Mechs. Any questions?"

Tessya raised a finger. "No objections, but maybe I should take the rear."

Marion shook her head. "No, Tess. Fifty kph is top end for most of my assaults. Falcons are likely to hit us first. If they start creeping up on us, I can start picking them off with my Gausses and LRMs." Besides her and Alfred Dennison's mighty _Perenniums,_ Marion also had Troms Fiordur's _Banshee_ and Ted van Kull's _Longbow._

"Okay." Tessya nodded. "But if you run into trouble, I'd like to circle around and help out."

"We'll wait and see if you need to." Sheila stretched to her full height. "Major, get ready to move them out." He saluted and was gone.

Sheila sent the others back to her 'Mechs, exchanging a hug and a quick kiss with Max before he left. The loading of the trucks was orderly; the Rangers had obviously done this before and had it down to a science. There was some crying, and a few seemed reluctant to give up their possessions, but at last it was done. No one elected to stay behind. At Keynes' request, the hotel staff went back to their homes as well; the last thing he wanted to happen was the Falcons to think—correctly—that the staff had helped the Rangers and give Henderson something to murder. As it was, Greenbrier might not escape Front Royal's fate, though Sheila hoped that Carmin Winson might give Henderson pause. Winson, for all his trickery, didn't seem like the type that would stand by and watch.

At last, it was finished. Keynes climbed into the lead truck, took up position behind the pintle mounted machine gun, and looked down at Sheila. "Sorry we couldn't throw you a party," he said.

Sheila smiled. "We'll throw a big one on Sudeten."

"You bet." He leaned down and they shook hands. Then the truck started off and Sheila ran for her 'Mech. When she was back aboard and "reconnected" to her _Shruiken_, they started off. Tessya walked her _Wasp_ past Sheila and tightbeamed a radio message to her commander. "Who ever heard of an Indian leading a wagon train?" Despite the seriousness of the moment, Sheila laughed long and hard over that one. "Wagons, ho," Sheila said to herself, then turned and took up position on the convoy on the northern side. There were thirty kilometers to go.

* * *

"And you are quite sure of this?" Athena Henderson stood with her hands on her hips, looking at the fighter pilot's image on the visiphone. She had never liked fighter pilots—Clan engineering had given them larger eyes than the norm and slight stature to resist G-forces, making their heads look out of proportion to their body, which she found grotesque. It was their attitude most of all. Fighter pilots usually thought they shined brighter than the sun, and a pilot was never more happier—or so they claimed—than when they were dueling other fighter pilots. Getting them to bomb and strafe the enemy was always a task.

"I am _quite_ sure, ovkhan," Star Commander Gunther Kyle shot back angrily. "I spotted at least two lances of 'Mechs in the town of Greenbrier. Two of them were of a make I did not recognize. I also saw about a Cluster's worth of trucks and other vehicles."

"You should have gone down for a closer look, quiaff?"

"I did not want to spoil the chance for surprise, Star Colonel." In actuality, Kyle had decided that he had better things to do than get blown out of the sky. Even fighter pilots gave assault 'Mechs wide berths, and his _Bashkir_ was a light fighter, not armored enough to take more than a few hits. Besides, if Star Colonel Athena Henderson wanted to find out what was in Greenbrier, she could by the Kerenskys damn well go and look herself. The Fusiliers had resented her being appointed to command the Cluster anyway, and knew it was just one more punishment the enraged saKhan Cavell Malthus had decided to heap upon the disgraced Cluster. Senefa Malthus may have turned traitor, but Kyle missed her nonetheless. She at least knew how to handle her pilots.

"Very well," Athena sighed. "I want you to keep tabs on them, Star Commander. Once your fighter is refuelled, go back up and shadow them."

"Aff, ovkhan." Kyle signed off before she could dismiss him.

Athena went back to her _Thor,_ where Star Captain Kazumi waited. Though she had liked her _Masakari_ more, the idea of taking Senefa Malthus' old 'Mech gave her great joy. She knew the 133rd Falcon Fusiliers, for the most part, despised her—none more so than the older man who stood before her. Kazumi had been the logical choice for command when Senefa had defected, as he had plenty of experience and was well-liked. Cavell Malthus, on the other hand, blamed the Fusiliers for his protégé going over to the other side, though even Athena thought his blame was misplaced. Senefa was simply flawed, in her opinion, and for that one could not blame all of it on her genetics or her unit. Cavell had been too gentle, too fawning over her, and the end result was that Senefa had thought she could get away with anything. In any case, Athena was secretly happy Senefa had done what she did: not only did it rescue Athena from serving under a fool, it also gave her the Clans' blessing to hunt her down.

Kazumi was a different story. He held the opinion of most of the Cluster: Senefa had done wrong, but she was not evil, stupid, or seduced by the siren song of the Inner Sphere. While some boasted of killing Senefa, getting the promised slot in the next Bloodname contest, and restoring honor to the Fusiliers, most did not. A few even said that if Senefa had defected, she must have had a good reason, leading them to question their very Clan. Athena had gotten the worst troublemakers transferred to garrison units to rot, but she could not spare Kazumi. The Fusiliers looked to him now, which she hated, but he obeyed her orders and kept the unit together. It did not matter, Athena decided; a few more months with the Fusiliers and either she would break them to her will, or she would have done enough to get a more prestigious assignment.

And now such an opportunity had dropped into her lap, almost literally. The Snowbirds had returned to Vantaa on some harebrained rescue operation, and Star Colonel Carmin Winson of the Wolves had graciously offered the hunt to Henderson. Since they could not stand each other, Athena suspected Winson of treachery, and she had been right.

"Orders?" Kazumi asked, coming to attention.

"The fucking Wolves lied to us," Athena cursed. The word was grossly offensive to Clanfolk, but Athena had adopted it because freebirth did not seem strong enough. "The Rangers are no longer in Roanoke. They are in Greenbrier. The Snowbirds are there."

Kazumi considered it. "Then they will be making for Lynchburg."

"Aff. But they will be slowed by the Rangers. The idiots will be taking their families with them, and the Snowbirds can only travel as fast as their slowest 'Mech—and Star Commander Kyle sighted assault 'Mechs as well." With her heel, Athena scratched out the thin grass and drew a rough map in the dirt. "Star Captain, I will take Alpha Trinary and go here—Blue Ridge. You will bring up the rest of the Cluster. I will delay the Snowbirds until you can hit them from behind. I will be the anvil and you the hammer, quiaff?"

Kazumi bent down. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, Athena did have her flashes of tactical brilliance, and this was one of them. By cutting across country and maintaining a good speed of eighty kph, which all Alpha's 'Mechs were capable of, she could easily cut off the Snowbirds. She would probably be outnumbered when she got there, but that was fine. True Clanfolk never considered the odds. "Aff, Star Colonel."

"See that you are not late." Athena threw that barb at him, enjoying reminding Kazumi of his advanced age. It meant that she would be around much longer than he would. She ran to the waiting _Thor_, not bothering to disguise the smile on her face. She needed no Bloodname slot, but the honor in killing Senefa would be high nonetheless. Sheila Arla-Vlata would be just as well. She relished seeing the Inner Sphere woman again. Athena had made sure that Sheila would never forget her until the day she died—which, she fervently hoped, would be rather soon. _And this time,_ Athena thought darkly, _she will not escape. _

* * *


	12. Battle at Blue Ridge

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here it is, finally: the big 'Mech battle! (And there was great rejoicing.) This one was tough to write, requiring much sacrifice (of hot wings) and it was time-consuming (in that I had to watch _The Wild Geese, Gettysburg, _and _The Last of the Mohicans_ to get ideas). Still, I like how it turned out. Hope it's not too anticlimactic. _

_ I have an epilogue written for this already, and I'll post that up in a few days. Then _Snowbird's Revenge_ is finished. I may take a break for a few weeks, as finals are coming up and then I'm hitting an anime convention and seeing some buddies for a week or two. If the muse strikes, though, I'll have something up before June. Just need to recharge the batteries, catch up on other posters' stories, etc. (I'm also feeling the need after two very intense chapters to write something funny. I don't know how Battletech comedy would work out, but there's an Evangelion story I need to finish and some Inu-Yasha ideas I have…but we'll see.)_

_REVIEWER'S CORNER:_

_Kat and FraserMage: I hope it's interesting. I also hope that I haven't made Sheila too Mary Sue in having her use her arm again this quickly._

_Rouge: Sorry 'bout that. This is the first semester I've been teaching full-time, so I actually have a lot more time to write these days. Enjoy it while it lasts._

_Noveltigger: Guess you'll just have to see…_

_Mosin: Thanks. The best laid plans, as it's said._

_SulliMike: Yeah, you could say that! _

_STORY SOUNDTRACK: "The Battle of Hoth" from _The Empire Strikes Back_ soundtrack, "Neodammerung"by Juno Reactor from _The Matrix Revolutions, _"Never Gonna Stop Me (The Red Red Kroovy)" by Rob Zombie, and "Over the Fence" from _Gettysburg.

_--_

* * *

_Near Blue Ridge_

_Vantaa, Clan Wolf Occupation Zone_

_6 September 3051_

Sheila looked at the chronometer and cursed softly. They had hoped to maintain a steady pace of fifty kph, but that had been quickly reduced to forty. The vehicles used by the Rangers to move their families were suffering from lack of maintenance, and worst of all, they had to make frequent stops for various reasons—the children needed a break, people had to use the bathroom, etcetera. Sheila knew that the Rangers wanted to get off Vantaa as much as she did, maybe more, and weren't delaying the expedition deliberately, but she caught herself wishing she could just cut them loose, get to the _Minerva_, and get the hell off this damned planet before it cost her any more people or limbs. To make matters worse than that, the road was pitted and scarred by BattleMechs moving on it, and had plenty of twists and turns, further slowing them down. What was supposed to be an hour's drive was now going on an hour and a half.

The only silver lining to the whole ordeal was that at least there was no danger of leaving Marion's assaults behind. In fact, she had them walking backwards, weapons sighted on the ridges behind. Tessya's Recon Lance was practically loafing along. Sheila was in constant communication with Elfa, who reported Lynchburg quiet. She had set up for all-around defense of the DropPort, but the only enemy she had been fighting was boredom. She had even gotten a radio call from the Wolf Elementals north of town asking how things were going, and would the Snowbirds be as so kind as to not raze the barracks when they left?

A red light flashed on her instrument panel, signaling a tightbeam message. She touched the radio button on her right control stick. "Snowbird."

"Snowbird, this is Canis." It was Max. "How's it going?"

"Bored. Wish these people could move faster."

"Roger that. Any activity over in your sector?"

"Nope."

"Me neither. I guess that's a good thing." She heard something on her external microphones, and turned them up slightly. "The Rangers are singing."

"I heard. You recognize the tune?"

"Something about a sweet home in Alabama. New one on me—"

"Air warning, north!" Cynmar's voice cut across the open net. Instantly all the 'Mechs froze in place, turning north. Cynmar's _Catapult_ was already swinging around, launch door coming open. Sheila cut off Max and activated the radar set into her _Shruiken's_ earlike protrusions. It picked up something, but her fire control was not designed to fight aircraft.

Brefudd Dari's _Axeman_, however, was. "Canis Four, I've got him. It's a _Bashkir,_ repeat, _Bashkir._"

Sheila's brain ran through the various known makes of Clan Aerospace Fighters. A _Bashkir_ was a light fighter, only 20 tons; still, it was extremely fast, and even with its light weaponry, it could wreak havoc among the Rangers' unarmored trucks. "Canis Four, Snowbird, what's he doing?"

"Just hanging there. He's at about six thousand meters, about six klicks off. He's way out of range for me."

"Asshole's shadowing us." Sheila glanced over at the trucks and saw Keynes waving for her attention. She switched frequencies. "It's a Clan fighter," she told him without acknowledging him. "He's just a recon."

"Do we need to abandon the trucks?" If the fighters strafed, the Rangers and their families were better off jumping into the ditches.

"No, keep moving." Sheila switched back to the battalion net. "Snowbird to Nail Lead. I have trade for you."

* * *

Ten thousand meters above the Snowbirds, Elizabeth Dowlings keyed her mike. "Snowbird, Nail. If it's the wee _Bashkir_ at me three o'clock low, I've got 'im." Her brogue was thick and instantly recognizable. Dowlings, a native of Skye, commanded the Sentinels Aerowing. Dowlings didn't need to be on Vantaa, but she had volunteered her services. She was a veteran fighter pilot well into her forties who had first fought in the Fourth Succession War, and worked her way up the ranks to command. She was affectionately known as Hawkeye for her phenomenal eyesight, which fighter pilots valued more than armor, heavy weapons, and beer. She had spotted the _Bashkir_ two minutes before, but since the Clan fighter was flying straight and level, she knew instantly that the Clan pilot hadn't seen her. She had left her radar off, using her eyes to scan the cloudy sky.

"Perfect, Nail," Sheila radioed back. "Make him go away."

"Roger that." Using hand signals, she ordered her wingman to follow her, then slammed the stick hard into her right knee. Her _Corsair_ rolled over and dived. Long nosed and short winged, the 50-ton Davion fighter was built for speed rather than manueverability: in the vertical, Dowlings was in her element. Altitude spun down as she hurtled towards the ground. In a second, the delta-winged Clan fighter filled her gunsight, and she opened fire with a fusillade of laserfire. The _Bashkir_ rocked under the impact, huge holes appearing down its starboard wing root. Then she was past, pulling back on the stick, craning her head back against the pull of G-forces and kicking the tail around. The _Bashkir_ was a comet, spinning crazily until it smashed into the side of a hill. "Splash one!" Dowlings crowed. It was her sixty-eighth kill.

"Well done, Nail," Sheila said. "Look, that bastard was shadowing us. Mind scouting ahead to see if there's anything there?"

"Nae a problem, Snowb'rd. Goin' doon now." Dowlings racked the _Corsair_ into a tight turn, her wingman hanging with her. She throttled back slightly, then rolled her left wing down. The terrain here wasn't bad—there was a low mountain to the north, heavily forested, which gave way to rolling wheatfields to the south. The hamlet of Blue Ridge was just a few houses and a recharge station for electric cars. "Looks quiet, Snow—"

Then she saw them: fifteen BattleMechs, hidden in a windbreak of trees and the town. They would be nearly impossible to see from the road and difficult from the air, but Dowlings had been doing this for most of her adult life. "Snowb'rd! Ye've got a Trinary at Blue Ridge, fifteen klicks west. I'll come back aroun' for a strafin' run—"

She spotted another group of five 'Mechs in a copse of trees. One of them was pointing quadruple gun barrels directly at her, and she realized that it was a _Rifleman IIC_, the Clan version of the venerable old 'Mech, whose primary purpose was antiaircraft defense. She hauled back on the stick and rammed the throttle forward, knowing it was already too late as her warning recievers screamed at her, telling she was locked on by several fire control systems, not just the _Rifleman._ Ruby lasers reached out and enveloped her _Corsair_ in fire. Shots blew through armor to hit her engine and tear away control surfaces; the _Corsair_ climbed, then rolled on its back and went into a spin.

Dowlings knew that she was dead. At this speed and altitude, inverted, even if she ejected, it would only mean the seat would sent her directly into the ground. She didn't feel angry or frightened, only disappointed that she had gotten caught out by a damn ground-pounding MechWarrior. She keyed her radio. "Well, this is it, chaps."

* * *

Sheila saw the explosion of the _Corsair._ _Oh, God,_ she thought, _not Liz Dowlings._ Her wingman, in a lighter _Sparrowhawk_, was already out of range of the lethal Clan fire, radioing frantically for Nail Lead, knowing as well as Sheila did that Dowlings was dead.

"Line defense!" Sheila shouted. "Thorn, fall back! Tiger One, come in!"

"Tiger here." Marion sounded unruffled.

"Tiger, take up position in front of the trucks with Canis. I'll take Thorn and swing around their left flank. Set up a base of fire."

"Roger." The assault 'Mechs began moving forward. Sheila ordered Keynes to put his trucks in what was known as a kraal: he essentially circled the wagons. He deployed his men in front of the trucks, in the tall wheat and the ditches, and ordered the families to stay in the trucks, behind what little armor they had and sandbags put in them expressly for that purpose. It would not stop even the lightest weapon on a 'Mech, but it was better than nothing. Luckily, there was another windbreak line of trees ahead, and Marion deployed her lance and Max's in it. Sheila and Tessya's lances moved into the forest and disappeared.

Suddenly, it was quiet. After the sudden death of two fighter pilots and the near-panic of sudden enemy contact, there was nothing. Nail Two rejoined another section of Snowbird fighters far above them, and Marion was about to ask them for another reconnaissance run when suddenly the small rise between their position and Blue Ridge was filled with Clan 'Mechs, and the radio net was pierced with a savage, piercing shriek that chilled the bone: the war cry of the Jade Falcons. Twenty Omnis topped the rise and headed straight at them in a line that would overwhelm the pitifully few nine Snowbirds between them and the Rangers.

"We're dead," Max breathed. It was an involuntary reaction.

"Shut up," Marion snapped. "You're not dead until I say so." She looked at her range counter: 840 meters. It rapidly dwindled below that, and she knew she was now in range. Her threat indicator lit up: one of the Clan 'Mechs had painted her and locked on, but just one. Her mouth curled into a cruel smile. "Dumb shit." She clicked her mike open. "Tigers, Canis, listen up: those bastards want a clean fight. Let's not give it to them. See those two _Gladiators_ out front? Let's dogpile the fuckers. Wait for my signal." She would have to wait until the Falcons reached 450 meters before she would open fire: the Clans would already have most of their 'Mechs in range by then. She shook her head, because the Omnis were still holding fire. They were going to settle this at close range.

"Fire! Fire! Fire!" Marion shouted, and the Snowbird line erupted in flame as lasers, missiles, and shells reached out. Each lance concentrated their fire on a single _Gladiator,_ the heaviest 'Mechs they could see. Both Clan 'Mechs went down under the staggering amount of fire. The line split and broke up, the Fusiliers instinctively moving away from the worst of the fire.

But then they returned fire, and to Marion's surprise, the Falcons didn't do what she thought they would. In almost all the battles fought to that point, the Clans fought one on one, even when their Inner Sphere opponents refused to return the favor. Now they switched targets and began concentrating their fire. Marion winced as her 'Mech's front armor was hit hard by yet another _Gladiator,_ this time teamed up with a _Mad Cat._ The _Perennium's_ thick armor held, but it wouldn't keep up with much more pounding. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw something go down, and pivoted her 'Mech to see: it was Troms Fiordur's _Banshee,_ missing most of its head. The 'Mech was unmoving. "Fuck," Marion breathed, and turned back, aiming at the _Mad Cat._ She put two Gauss shots into its right leg and marched two PPC bolts into its right side, but though the Clan 'Mech staggered, it didn't go down. Marion stepped from the forest a short distance to get a better sight picture, but this only made her a better target. The _Gladiator_ raised an arm that ended in a huge barrel, which vomited autocannon shells. Marion pivoted and brought up her left arm to shield her cockpit, a move that saved her life but also unbalanced her. The heavy Ultra AC/20 sent her _Perennium_ crashing to the earth and slammed her head hard into the side of the cockpit.

Max saw Marion go down and shook his head in anger. The Fusiliers had halted and were now spreading out, dodging incoming fire and raking the treeline with heavy and accurate fire. Both sides recognized each other now: the Snowbirds had seen the screaming banshee emblem of the 133rd, and the Fusiliers recognized the diving snowy owl of the Snowbirds. Both sides had good reasons to despise the other, and the combat was suddenly very personal. Max saw Drax go down, his _Phoenix Hawk_'s left leg amputated, but he didn't stay down long: balancing against a tree, he fired his large laser. Max knew he needed to pull back, but there was nowhere to pull back to. _Where the hell is Sheila?_ He had tried over the company net, but the static told him he was being jammed.

The lance net worked fine, however. "Canis One, Tiger Three: Tiger One is down." Alfred Dennison was as close to fear as Max had ever seen the old veteran, who at sixty was the oldest MechWarrior in the battalion.

"Canis One!" Maria Thyatis' voice came in just behind Dennison's. "Elementals, left flank!"

_That's why the bastards stopped,_ Max thought sourly, _the Falcons are afraid of hitting the Elementals with overspray._ He took in the battlefield with a glance. "Tiger Four, are you still upright?"

"I'm still here, Canis!" Ted van Kull's _Longbow_ was holed in a few places, but was still operational. The drumlike missile launchers on both arms were wreathed in smoke from firing.

"Displace left and put fire down on the Elementals!" Max's fingers worked like a clarinet player as the _Longbow_ shuffled to its left and sent fifty missiles towards a line of green-painted Elementals, leaping and running through the wheat towards the Rangers' kraal. "Canis Lance, refuse the left! Bring those Elementals under fire! Tigers, mask fire right and keep their heads down!"

"Easy for you to say!" Drax hit a charging _Mad Cat_ with large laser fire, but he might as well have thrown a pie at a freight train. The _Mad Cat _simply switched fire and only just missed him with two flights of missiles. He already had one leg gone and the other couldn't take another hit. The _Mad Cat_ advanced, rearing back to deliver what he was sure would be the final blow. It outweighed him by thirty tons, even if he was fully operational. Fire suddenly leapt up from the ground and the Clan Omni's right leg tore free, sending the Falcon crashing to the ground. From the smoking wheat, Marion's _Perennium_ staggered to its feet and limped over to Drax. "That'll teach the bastard to turn his back on _me_," Marion snarled over the open net. Drax found that uproariously funny and couldn't stop laughing, even as he was still firing at the downed _Mad Cat._

* * *

Athena Henderson paused on the small rise. She saw that she had three 'Mechs down, but at least two of the Snowbirds' machines were down too. She could see five assault 'Mechs, however—a _Battlemaster,_ an _Atlas_, a _Longbow_ and two of those squat gun-batteries-with-legs she knew were called _Perenniums._ The fire they could put out was tremendous, and they could also absorb quite a bit of damage.

"Elemental Devin," Athena radioed. "Ignore the BattleMechs and attack the infantry." She watched as the Elementals sheered off from engaging the lance led by the _Battlemaster_ and began running and jumping headlong towards the circle of trucks on the road. Missile and tracer fire began to crisscross each other there as well. Athena did not do it out of cruelty to the Rangers, but because she knew that the Snowbirds would have to pull back even further to support them. The thin line was unraveling fast.

"BattleMechs, northern flank!" Athena turned her _Thor_ to look in that direction. "So that is where they were," she mused to herself. She saw another two lances charge out of the woods: the distinctive shape of the _Shruiken_ was out in front. "And so the Snowbird herself makes her appearance," Athena snorted. She mashed the radio button. "Star Captain Evelena, refuse the left flank with Bravo Beak One." Evelena acknowledged, but she had already been moving before Athena gave the order. That brought ten Omnis on line against eight Inner Sphere 'Mechs, most of which, she saw, were lights. Already a _Wasp_ and a _Wolfhound_ were edging around Evelena's line, but that was to be expected, and easily countered. "Fusilier Bravo, what is your position?"

"Four kilometers out, east of the battle site," Kazumi reported. He was breathless, as if he had been running and not his 'Mech.

_Old man,_ Athena thought derisively. Whatever his popularity with the Cluster, she would be rid of him after this engagement, either by transfer or by Circle of Equals. "Charlie Trinary, general battle." Athena knew Kazumi would hate that, because it released his MechWarriors to move up to their top speed and engage as they struck the Inner Sphere lines; it also hopelessly disorganized Charlie Trinary from a line of battle into a mob. That was fine with Athena: she could feel the Snowbirds getting desperate. Already the line in the front of her was literally bent double, with what was left of one lance defending against the one Star and the other lance, its backs to the first, trying to drive off the Elementals. There was no one covering the Rangers' rear area, and even a single Star of light 'Mechs would completely overrun them. Her grin of triumph faded a little when she saw the plucky _Wasp_, ignoring the fact that its lancemate _Valkyrie_ had been cut down, leaping behind Evelena's line. Athena recognized the markings as the _Wasp_ she had been trying to exterminate when it had landed that lucky shot that had knocked her cold. "MechWarrior Ichigo."

"Aff, Star Colonel!" Ichigo piloted the _Rifleman IIC_; Athena had pulled him from the tiny garrison at Sharpsburg. He was a freeborn with no chance of advancement, except in battle, and had already distinguished himself by shooting down the Inner Sphere aerofighter. Now he was slavishly devoted to her.

"See that _Wasp?_ Obliterate it."

"Aff, Star Col—" He was cut off in midsentence as a Gauss shell sang out from nowhere and blasted straight through the 'Mech's head. The _Rifleman_ seemed to fold in on itself. A fragment spiraled outwards and smashed one of the vision blocks of Athena's _Thor_. At that moment, someone screamed, "_Enemy 'Mechs in our rear!"_

"Enemy 'Mechs to our front!" someone else shouted. Athena, confused, turned left and then right. Bad enough was the appearance of another, heavier lance from the woods from the northwest; worst was the lance coming in directly from behind them. MechWarrior Seneca in Athena's Command Star, piloting an _Uller_, turned to engage and suddenly had both arms taken off at the elbows. Firing at the light 'Mech was a _Rifleman;_ drawing a bead on Athena herself was a _Thunderbolt._

* * *

It was a perfectly coordinated attack. It was also a freak accident.

Elfa Brownoak, waiting impatiently at the Lynchburg DropPort, knew that Sheila was overdue. Sheila had kept her updated on the situation, but Elfa, being the pilot of a Clan OmniMech herself, knew just how fast the Clans could move. Afraid that Sheila might be cut off somewhere along the road, Elfa decided on a very risky choice: she would strip the DropPort of everything but her infantry and her own Command Lance, and send her other two lances east to link up with Sheila. Senefa Malthus needed no further urging, and had quickly moved out. When she had seen two aerofighters go down, she had assumed that there was a Clan force somewhere on the road, and ordered her 'Mechs to go as fast as they could. A minute sooner, and Athena would be able to pull back and reform her line to the south. A minute later, and at least two lances of the Snowbirds would have ceased to exist. Senefa's timing was lucky, but it was also perfect. Now the Fusiliers were in a box, with Snowbird lances on every side.

* * *

Sheila had been very worried. The Fusiliers had reacted much faster than she had anticipated, shifting two Stars to meet her charge head on; she had pulled her lances up short and spread them out, knowing her lights had little chance of survival against _Thors_ and _Lokis._ In the distance she could see black smoke and explosions, the telltale signs of destroyed BattleMechs, and the net was alive with calls for help and curses, especially from the Rangers, who had almost no chance of holding off a concerted Elemental attack. When a _Loki_ had abruptly gone down almost in front of her and she heard Tooriu Kku's yell of "Let's _rock_!" over the radio, she knew with a flash of insight what had happened. Elfa, with her initiative, and Max and Marion, with their tenacity, had given Sheila the chance to win the battle after she had nearly lost it. _I lost the Battle of Marengo at five o'clock,_ Sheila quoted Napoleon to herself, _but I won it back at seven._

"Box One, Snowbird!" Sheila yelled to Tooriu. "Hit the Falcons to my front on their left flank—roll 'em up!"

"Done!" The _Awesome_ crashed out of the woods. He blasted a_ Thor_ with three PPC bolts, then Canonizado charged in with his _Victor_ and let fly with his AC/20. The _Thor_ went down even as Tooriu turned his attention to the next Clan 'Mech in line, a _Mad Cat,_ which was already being hit by missiles: behind Tooriu and Canonizado was John Lawson and Eric Jerome in twin _Archers._ The Clan line hesitated and began to pull back. Sheila seized the moment. "Snowbird and Thorn Lances, _charge!"_ Sheila took a hasty shot at a _Man O'War_ and ran her _Shruiken_ up to full speed. She was flanked by two _Wolfhounds_, O'Reilly and Felisanna. She saw the _Man O'War_ pivot to engage her, then it disappeared in a huge explosion: Fabian Cynmar was direct firing his Arrow IVs with murderous effect.

Sheila half-expected to collide with something in the smoke, because everything seemed like it was on fire. The wheat had quickly caught in the battle, and though because it was wet it only smoldered, it was reducing visibility to nil. She considered infrared, but dismissed that; the fires would wreck that as well. She would just have to put her head down and take her chances.

Four Elementals came out of nowhere, leaping towards Sheila's 'Mech. She pivoted and tried to bring up her left arm, but the metal groaned alarmingly and stubbornly refused to move. Kaatha, hobbling along with a smashed upper leg actuator, swatted three of them out of the sky with LRMs, while the fourth clanged off the _Shruiken_ and dropped to the ground. O'Reilly drew back and kicked the hapless Elemental into the trees. The other three, not terribly wounded, found easier prey.

Felisanna was hit and spun around by a Gauss shell that made a ruin of her left arm, but now Canonizado arrived and fired his huge autocannon again. The _Thor_ that had fired on Felisanna was stitched from missile launcher to hips and fell backward, not destroyed, but taking no further interest in the little _Wolfhound._ Canonizado, with a whoop, jumped his _Victor_ in to finish off the _Thor_, only to nearly land on a _Vulture_ that surged out of the smoke. The battle had degenerated into a wild melee. Sheila saw the movement out of the corner of her eye as the _Vulture_ hit the _Victor_ with missile fire; she turned nimbly, rushed forward, lowered her _Shruiken_'s right shoulder, and smashed into the _Vulture_. The Clan 'Mech staggered and Sheila took a step back, aimed, and opened up with her medium pulse lasers for the first time. Used to seeing a steady stream of coherent light, Sheila was surprised to see ruby pulses scatter across the Falcon, tearing apart armor and causing it to stumble yet again. Its return fire went wide, and Sheila finished it off with PPC fire. She didn't see the _Uller_ coming in from behind, but Tooriu did, and blew it apart just as it ripped open her rear armor with laser fire. A quick glance at the instrument panel revealed that she had taken no internal damage. "Snowbird, you okay?" Tooriu called out.

"I'm good, Box." _Got to get control of this,_ she thought, and moved out away from the battle, into the treeline. Here, the smoke had thinned some, and she could see Max's _Battlemaster_—scored, burned, and the SRM launcher wrecked, but still standing tall. "Canis, Snowbird, you okay?" she said, aping Tooriu.

"A little warm," Max puffed.

"Lance sitrep."

"We're shot up, but still here."

"Snowbird, this is Tiger." Marion's _Perennium_ had seen better days, but it too was still vertical. "I've lost three of mine, but Dennison and I are still tactical."

"Okay. Tiger, Canis, reform a new line east of the kraal. There's Clan 'Mechs up there; that's probably the rest of the Fusiliers." She saw the _Perennium_ limping along. "Max, you're in command. I'll send Box Lance up to reinforce you ASAP."

Matria's _Chameleon_, somehow completely unscarred, came up next to her. "Snowbird One, Nut Two just called for help. She's over the little hill by Blue Ridge, at 040." It took Sheila a moment to place who Nut Lance was; that was Senefa's, the callsign not yet changed since Terry Nutter's death. Nut Two was Maysa Bari.

"Roger." She began moving in that direction. "Thorn One, come in."

"This is Thorn Three," O'Reilly answered. "Thorn One's down."

_Damn, not Tessya._ That would have to wait. "Okay. Thorn Three, take command here. Round up Snowbird and Thorn lances and drive the Elementals south. I think Box has the Falcon 'Mechs under control." They ignored Tooriu's "You bet your ass!"; he had obviously been listening in. "Snowbird Five—" that was Cynmar "—move east and cover Tiger and Canis lances. Snowbird Four, you follow me."

"Roger that," Matria replied. He was stunned at how Sheila could keep a mental picture of the mess around them. _ Guess that's why she has the rank diamonds,_ he mused to himself.

* * *

After Senefa had decaptitated the _Rifleman IIC_ and Maysa crippled the _Uller,_ Athena's Command Star was down to three 'Mechs: her own _Thor,_ Star Commander Rukia Roshak's _Ryoken_, and MechWarrior Scylla's _Loki._ Togan Nordkoping had quickly selected and was duelling Scylla with his _Warhammer,_ while Maysa had gone after Roshak. However, Rukia Roshak was the most veteran of the Fusiliers besides Kazumi, and soon was literally running rings around Maysa's ponderous _Rifleman_. She had surprised him by twisting her arms through the vertical and covering her vulnerable rear, but after taking a pounding from that, Roshak had pulled back and begun making hit and run attacks with his array of medium lasers, using his _Ryoken_'s tremendous speed to stay out of Maysa's reach. For the first time in her short career, the sixteen year old prodigy felt way in over her head, so when she began calling for help, Senefa had quickly detailed Stefan Jones and his _Thunderbolt_ in to help her. That left Athena and Senefa going at it head-to-head, which was exactly how both preferred it.

Athena thought she recognized something about the way the _Thunderbolt_ moved, and opened a tightbeam channel to the Inner Sphere 'Mech. "Senefa, traitor, is that you?"

"Aff, Athena. That is my 'Mech, quiaff?"

"It is! Mine by spoils of war, along with your Cluster—and now I think I will take your life!"

"Come on, you Hell's Horses whore," Senefa spat back, referring to Athena's former Clan. The other Clanswoman let out a strangled cry of rage and charged forward, bringing up the arm that Senefa knew housed a Gauss Rifle. She shifted to one side, not fast enough, but enough so the silver ball ripped off leg armor rather than her head. Senefa noticed disinterestedly that the shell had taken off over half her left leg's armor, but that was unimportant for now. She sent a flight of missiles at Athena, who dodged them, but Senefa had never cared if they had connected: she had merely set up her enemy. Senefa ran directly at Athena, absorbed a few missiles of her own, then when the Gauss raised once more, she suddenly cut right, turned, and let her momentum carry her past. The Gauss shell skimmed off to parts unknown, but now Senefa had a split-second shot at Athena's rear torso. The range was close for a Gauss shot, but she managed. Her shot entered the smooth rear of the _Thor_ and went straight through, exploding out the other side. Senefa breathed a choice curse through clenched teeth; she had hoped that she would hit the missile magazine.

Athena almost fell, but managed to turn and pepper Senefa with more missiles, but she simply ignored them, trusting to the _Thunderbolt_'s thick armor. Once more Senefa centered the Gauss and smashed the _Thor's_ own Gauss weapon, then severed the arm completely with her triple medium lasers. This time Athena did fall. Missiles corkscrewed crazily through the air and hit nothing. Senefa raised the Gauss again, letting the crosshairs fall directly on the squat cockpit of the _Thor_; unlike Sheila, she had no remorse in killing her enemies.

MechWarrior Scylla saw Athena go down, and though he was losing against the _Warhammer_, who had already punctured the thin-skinned _Loki_ in several places, and despite Athena's orders to the contrary, he aimed his remaining PPC and fired. The bolt took Senefa by surprise, and she twisted around, the _Thunderbolt_ teetering. She was still unused to the new 'Mech, but might have kept it on its feet, had Athena not brought up her remaining weapon arm—which housed a PPC as well. The blue lightning sent Senefa crashing to the ground.

Senefa shook her head free of stars and quickly checked her instrument panel. All weapons were operational, though her left leg's hip actuator was a ruin. It would make getting back to her feet very difficult—and suddenly she realized that Athena was already on hers. Senefa raced to bring her Gauss Rifle up as Athena leveled the PPC at her head. "Turnabout is fair—" she heard Athena begin, but then her view was blotted out.

Sheila hit the _Thor_ at full speed, not even bothering to fire her weapons for fear of hitting Senefa. Instead, she wrapped her arms around the Clan 'Mech and purposely let her 'Mech fall, performing a beautiful, ten meter tall and 75 ton version of an American-rules football sack.

Both 'Mechs skidded down the hill and slid to a stop, facing and entangled with each other. "Remember me?" Sheila yelled over her external speakers.

"You _die!"_ Athena screamed back, and kicked the _Shruiken_ hard, enough to bring up the PPC. Sheila's own twin PPCs were pinned beneath the _Thor_, and her medium pulse lasers wouldn't do enough damage—which left the shruiken launcher. Sheila simply slammed her steel arm into the control stick. The left arm raised, fell over, and she squeezed the trigger as it moved past the _Thor_'s cockpit. A single star flew from its launcher, struck the vision blocks, and did exactly as it was designed to do: it split lengthwise, spraying inferno fluid, which exploded when it contacted the air. The napalm covered the cockpit, forced its way through plexiglass shattered by the impact of Sheila's charge, and fell onto Athena Henderson. Sheila brought up the _Shruiken's_ legs and kicked free of the burning _Thor_, even as she switched off her radio so she would not have to listen to Athena's screams. She levered her way back to the vertical. The _Thor_ had stopped moving.


	13. We Are All Orphans

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Epilogue to Snowbird's Revenge. I hope it doesn't feel too forced or too rushed. But I won't apologize for the somewhat blatant thievery from _The Last of the Mohicans_ in the scene with Sheila and Kazumi._

_ Again, I probably won't be posting for a bit—just need to recharge (and come up with new ideas). _

_REVIEWER'S CORNER:_

_Kat: Thank you. At least Sheila didn't use her jumpjets. (I always hated that—it ruined a good book.) I'm not really a Bleach fan; I was just looking through anime series and saw Ichigo and Rukia and went with it._

_Noveltigger and Panzerfaust: Damn, you guys are cold! Remind me never to tick you off._

_Mosin and 4477: I hadn't really considered the symbolic aspect of Athena getting fried, but it works._

_SulliMike: Do you have me down in your Author Alerts? _

_Green Knight: You bet. All of the following story arcs will be 'Mech fights from here on out._

_Rouge: I know of Ashyukun from his AMV work (which is excellent), but the only con I go to regularly is Anime Central in Chicago. I've unfortunately never gotten further east than that. But that shows what a small world we live on…_

_STORY SOUNDTRACK: "It's Over" from _Terminator 2, _"Wheel in the Sky" by Journey, and "Destination Unknown" by Marietta (off the _Top Gun_ soundtrack)._

_--_

* * *

_Near Blue Ridge_

_Vantaa, Clan Wolf Occupational Zone_

_6 September 3051_

Sheila stood, helmet off and out of her 'Mech, on the battlefield. What had once been a verdant wheatfield and a treelined windbreak was now a muddy mess. 'Mechs and pieces of 'Mechs lay everywhere, interspersed with spent autocannon shells, unexploded ordnance, solid Gauss shot, and bodies.

The 133rd Falcon Fusiliers had taken the worst of it. Only six out of the original 20 OmniMechs were still operational. Star Captain Evelena had managed to eject from her exploding 'Mech and lay under one of the few unsplintered trees, being attended to by Vantaa Ranger medics. That left Kazumi as the senior surviving officer, also because he still had an untouched Trinary. He had lost two of his light 'Mechs to Max's ersatz demi-company, and had pulled the others back rather than risk them against assault 'Mechs. Once the battle on the hill had ended, Sheila had proposed a truce. Kazumi had agreed immediately. Both commanders met on the field east of the kraal.

Kazumi came to attention and saluted. "Commander Sheila Arla-Vlata," he greeted her. "I am Star Captain Kazumi of the 133rd Falcon Fusiliers. I have known you as a gallant antagonist. It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

Sheila was always surprised at how two enemies who had been doing their level best to kill each other minutes before could be so civil once the shooting ended. Though she was inclined to tell Kazumi to shove it, she instead returned his salute. "I'm not feeling very civil at the moment, Star Captain, but it is nice to see you still alive. Senefa Malthus—" Sheila emphasized the Bloodname "—has spoken very highly of you."

"Is she alive?"

"And well. You can understand my reluctance to let her get out of her 'Mech." Sheila feared very much that one of the Fusiliers would simply gun Senefa down the moment she was in the open.

"Of course—though none of my people would break a truce. Not even for her. Many of us…still think very highly of Senefa Malthus." He emphasized the Bloodname as well. "How is Star Captain Evelena?"

"She's okay. Broken arm. She'll be okay," Sheila repeated. "We'll turn her over to you as soon as we police up the battlefield and pull back. We've also got ten other prisoners and six of your 'Mechs—we'll hold onto three of those as _isorla._"

Kazumi looked less than thrilled about that, but he was in a bad bargaining position. There was nothing he could do to stop Sheila from taking all six Omnis as prizes. "What of Star Colonel Athena Henderson?"

"She's exceedingly dead." Sheila tried to feel remorse for Athena's death, but couldn't and didn't want to. No MechWarrior should die by fire, the fate that all MechWarriors feared above all others, but Sheila was having trouble feeling any sympathy. That bothered her, but from the look on Kazumi's face, he didn't much care either. "I take it she wasn't popular."

"Let us just say that what is left of the Cluster and the majority of Clan Jade Falcon will not mourn the passing of the Butcher of Front Royal." Kazumi nodded. "Well. Shall we agree to a truce, then? I understand the Wolves have granted you hegira—I see no reason not to do the same. That is, before I am in a position to ask for hegira myself."

Sheila smiled. Kazumi was being more magnanimous in defeat than she would've been. "I agree. If you want to send a few Elementals—say, about five or six—through the battlefield to identify their dead, that would be all right. However, I'd advise you to stay clear of the Rangers. They're not feeling very neighborly right now."

Kazumi sighed. "Aff, I understand. If it had been up to me…" He opened his hands and shrugged. "Nothing for that now, quiaff?" He put out a hand. "Bargained well and done, Commander." Sheila shook it, and he noticed her arm. "From…what happened at Sharpsburg," he stated, and Sheila saw the emotions play on his face. Kazumi was disgusted—not at the arm, but what had caused it.

"I consider the matter closed," Sheila told him, and she did. Bonner was dead, Henderson was dead, and there was nothing now but to fight the war and win it. "Until we meet again, Star Captain." She saluted and left.

* * *

When she got back to her battalion, she saw Tessya Blackthorn on a stretcher and rushed over. "Hey, you Lacotah cutthroat," she said. "You okay?"

"I don' feel doo gud," Tessya mumbled. She pointed feebly at her nose, which had a massive bandage over it. "Some basterd of a Falcon knocked de overed. M'Mech's okay, but I smashed my node on da insdrumend pandel. Hurds." She saw Sheila fighting back a laugh, and her puffy eyes narrowed. "Hey, bidch. I didn'd laugh ad _dew_ when you were busded ud."

"I'm sorry, Tessya." Sheila bent down and kissed her forehead. "Be careful with this one," she told the medics. "She likes to count coup."

"Oh, Godd," Tessya moaned. "Enoudh wid da Indian jokes…" Still, she smiled up at Sheila as they carried her to a waiting truck.

Max came up to her and they kissed each other, deeply. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. All things considered." She saw Frederick Matria looking for her, and waved him over. "Hi, Fred. Is that the butcher's bill?" He nodded and handed over the datapad.

Sheila had expected worse. Only one of her MechWarriors was dead—Ted van Kull, who had fired until his _Longbow_ had run out of ammunition and died for it. Somehow Troms Fiordur had survived getting his _Banshee's_ head destroyed, though he would be out of action for quite some time. Marcus Drax and Philip Scott had lost their 'Mechs, but had survived; Tessya was hurt but her _Wasp_ was salvageable. Everyone else was torn up to one extent or another, but was still operational, though some 'Mechs would be limping or dragged back to the _Minerva_. Still, Sheila was glad that Kazumi didn't want to press the issue. It was bad enough that Sheila would be writing a letter to Ted's parents; she remembered that she'd have to notify her father of Elizabeth Dowlings' death as well, which would be hard on him. They had known each other for many years.

Who had suffered the most was the Vantaa Rangers. Though Max's stand and van Kull's sacrifice had pulled off some of the Elementals, enough had gotten through. The fighting had been savage and merciless, and somehow, the Rangers had managed to hold. They were still counting the dead, though, and four of the trucks were burning wrecks. Someone had given the order to abandon the trucks, which had probably saved some lives.

Matria was about to say something when Sheila spotted someone wandering through the battlefield. "Excuse me," she said, and left both men. She walked over, trying not to slip in the mud, and saw who it was: Louisa Keynes, one of the Major's twin six year old daughters. She looked worse for the wear: her face was muddy and she had a nasty bruise on her forehead; her red hair was tangled and now a dull russet, covered in mud and looking singed. She stared up at Sheila with remarkably blue eyes, her fingers absently twirling the ears of an equally bedraggled stuffed rabbit. Sheila bent down. "Hey. You're Louisa, aren't you? Louisa Keynes?"

The little girl nodded. "Where's mommy and daddy?" she whispered.

"Good question." Sheila needed to find John Keynes herself. Someone had to get the Rangers organized and back on the trucks; she trusted Kazumi, but to a point. "Let's find them, okay?" Sheila motioned Louisa to follow her. She obeyed and hesitantly reached out to take Sheila's hand. She found one of Keynes' officers. "Captain Fossum. Have you seen Major Keynes?"

Fossum straightened up from pulling a rifle out of the mud, looked at Louisa, and then to Sheila. She motioned over one of the medics, and once Louisa was distracted, moved out of earshot. "He's dead, Commander. Caught it right at the beginning of the fight."

Sheila turned away for a moment, not wanting Fossum to see her eyes fill with tears. She had barely known Keynes, but he had risked her life to save hers at Sharpsburg, devoted everything to getting his people offplanet, and now he was dead. She regained control of herself with effort and turned back to Fossum, whose own cheeks were wet with tears. "What about his wife…Anna Keynes."

Fossum shook her head. "One of our SRM gunners got hit. She ran out to grab the launcher—Elemental saw her and got her too." She waved at one of the burning trucks. "Maritsa Keynes is dead too. That truck took a direct hit. Nobody's left. Mostly kids…we thought Louisa was there too…must've been thrown clear or jumped or something…" Suddenly it was too much and Fossum began sobbing. Though she had only met the other woman briefly at Greenbrier, Sheila drew her into an embrace, letting the older woman cry on her shoulder. "How—w-what are we going to do?" Fossum struggled out between heaving sobs. "Louisa's got no one. There's no family here on V-Vantaa or anywhere else…"

Sheila patted her back. "I'll figure out something. Don't let her out of your sight." She yelled for Max and motioned him over, then stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. "_What?!"_ he exclaimed, turning heads for meters. "That's crazy, Sheila, we couldn't even—"

"Max, please."

"No." Max said firmly. "I hate being an asshole, Sheila, but what she's going to do when we're gone? We know the Clans are coming back. It's going to be touch and go, if we're lucky. What's she supposed to do, play around the 'Mech bays…" His voice trailed off at the look on Sheila's face. That was exactly how she had grown up—how he had grown up, how Maysa had, and nearly every one of the MechWarriors of their generation. "Well…I need to think about it, Sheila. I'm not ready to be a daddy. This isn't something you can just make a snap decision about…" He rolled his eyes. "Unless your name is Sheila Arla-Vlata, of course."

"If you say no, I won't do it," Sheila replied quietly. "But she needs a home. John Keynes put his life on the line for me, Max. I can't just leave what's left of him."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," Sheila said firmly.

Max sighed. "Oh, hell. I'm going to learn to refuse you someday, Sheila, I swear I will." He smiled down at her and kissed her dirty cheek. "Well…Mom will be happy. She's been bugging me about grandchildren…hadn't the heart to tell her the truth."

"Are _you_ sure you want to do this?" Sheila asked.

"Yeah."

"Okay. You're a saint, honey." She kissed him again.

"No, that's Maysa," he called out after her, then sat down in the mud, wondering how he had gotten himself into this one.

Sheila's smile faded. This was no easy undertaking. But didn't she already have children of her own? She looked at the tired faces around her, close and in the distance. She saw O'Reilly elbow one of the Rangers and point, and read her lips:_ that's the Old Lady._ Still, when she had thought of having kids when she was younger, this was not the way she had wanted to go about it.

"Louisa?" Sheila knelt in front of the little girl. Fossum was standing there as well, brushing tears from her face. One look at Louisa's, and Sheila knew she wouldn't have to tell her the horrible truth. Fossum already had. She thanked the other woman with a nod. "Louisa…I can't change what's happened or make it better."

Louisa sniffled, but then said with surprising maturity. "I know."

"Do you want to come with me?" Louisa hesitated, then gave a slow nod. Clasping the rabbit to her left side, she crossed around and put her small fingers into Sheila's metal ones. She showed no fear of them. As they walked she looked up. Blue eyes locked on green. "Who'll be my mommy?" she asked.

"I am...now." Sheila picked up Louisa, heading towards Max and her 'Mech.


End file.
